


My Lord, My Love

by inspiration_assaulted



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, Nobility, Slavery, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiration_assaulted/pseuds/inspiration_assaulted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, an orphan of the last plague and former slave of Lord Malfoy of Wiltshire, is the youngest captain of the Malfoy guard in memory. With Lord Slytherin stirring up trouble, Captain Potter is assigned to protect Lord Malfoy's only son.</p><p>Things do not go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Now, my honoured Lords, this next one’s a treat,” the auctioneer promised, giving an oily smile. “Just three years old, the perfect age to really soak up any training, and unusually magical to boot!”

Harry shook as the assistant shoved him up on the stage in only his old breeches. He wished he could have kept his shirt, it was cold and he didn’t like all these men staring at him. He clenched his fist, resisting the urge to adjust the uncomfortable iron collar locked around his neck as Mr Borgin, the auctioneer, played up his ‘attributes’ to try to milk another few Sickles from the Lords who were buying. He stared at his bare feet instead, scuffing them across the rough boards of the stage as Mr Borgin called out the bids.

“Sold!” Mr Borgin pronounced with a wide smile, and Harry looked up as the assistant yanked him off the stage and dragged him toward the Lord who had bought him. The assistant gave the Lord a grin that was missing teeth.

“Pretty, ain’t he, your Lordship?” the assistant leered, unlocking the iron collar before passing Harry over.

The Lord took hold of his shoulder gently, his thumb rubbing softly at the red marks the assistant had left on Harry’s upper arm. He sneered faintly, not answering the assistant, and turned on a heel. Harry rushed to keep up with the tall Lord’s long strides, guided by the hand on his shoulder. He took them to a rich, pale blue carriage with a crest on the door, helping Harry climb up in before stepping in after him and shutting the door.

Harry looked around in wonder. The seats inside were covered in a soft white fabric and the wood was painted the same pale blue as the outside with touches of gilding.

His roving eyes met the sharp gaze of a black-eyed man already inside, and Harry rushed to lower his head, anxious to avoid punishment. He was a slave after all, he needed to remember his station.

“This is what you chose, Lucius?” the black-eyed man sneered, looking Harry over critically. Harry flushed, feeling very small and dirty next to this man, dressed in black and deep green, and his new Lord, with his rich white robes and pale hair tied back with a silk ribbon.

“I couldn’t very well let someone else take him,” the Lord replied easily. “He’s three, the same age as Draco, and you know how some people treat slaves. Besides, he young enough not to have picked up any unwanted behaviours. You may raise him however you wish.”

The black-eyed man just hummed in reply and took out his wand. Harry glanced up, curious despite himself. So few people in the village had enough magic to use a wand with the kind of ease this man displayed. His eyes widened when the man cast without saying any words, the mark of someone educated in magic. Harry’s skin tingled and itched for a second, and he realised that the man had just cast some sort of spell to clean the dirt off him. Thankful, Harry gave a wobbly bow, like the slave-traders had taught him.

“Sit, boy,” the Lord urged, patting the bench beside him. Harry sat, eyes still downcast, and the Lord gave the signal for the driver to go. “What’s your name?”

“Harry P-“ he began, then caught himself before he blurted out the name his Aunt had told him never to say again. “Harry Evans,” he corrected, missing the look that passed between the two men at his almost-admission.

“Well, Harry,” the Lord continued as though his slip hadn’t happened, “I am Lord Lucius Malfoy, of Wiltshire, and this is my physician Severus Snape.” He paused as Harry murmured a polite greeting. “You will be Severus’ charge. He will take care of you, and you will be his assistant, and perhaps one day his apprentice.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry said, clinging desperately to the few etiquette rules the slave-traders had taught him.

Lord Malfoy reached over and grasped his chin gently, raising Harry’s eyes to meet his own astonishingly silver ones. “Don’t worry, Harry, no one’s going to beat you,” he promised. “Severus may be strict, but as long as you follow his rules, he won’t have any reason to punish you. Besides,” he added, dropping his voice and giving a conspiratorial grin, “he’s really a big softie inside.”

Harry pressed a hand over his mouth to cover his smile, but a brief giggle slipped out. Severus scowled, but Harry could see the hidden amusement in his dark eyes, and it made him feel much better about being a slave. Everything would be alright, as long as he was with these men. He liked Lord Malfoy especially. No one had ever been so nice to him before, and definitely not anyone who owned him like he would a cloak or a horse.

Harry dozed off during the ride, and Lord Malfoy arranged him to lay on the wide cushioned bench with his head on a little pillow. He woke when the carriage jerked to a stop, signalling their arrival at Malfoy Manor.

Jumping down from the carriage, Harry stared up at the castle open-mouthed. It was the biggest thing he’d ever seen, all painted white, made all the bigger by comparison to his tiny stature. Sunlight glinted off the glass windows of the Keep proper, and Harry could see guards passing by the open slits in the walls of the towers. There were more guards, dressed in navy blue with their armour shining in the sun, patrolling the top of the wall and on the crenelated rooftop.

“Welcome home, Harry,” Lord Malfoy said, laying a hand on his shoulder again. “Come, there are a few things we must do before you go off with Severus to your rooms.”

Exhausted by the long day and the sheer number of sudden changes in his life, the rest of the day was a bit of a blur to Harry. He was fitted with a flexible leather collar bearing the Malfoy family crest and its motto, the French phrase ‘Honneur à la magie,’ which he was told meant ‘Honour in Magic.’ Harry was happy to find that the soft inside of the collar didn’t pinch or rub like the iron collar had. After the collar, he was given the traditional slave’s mark, a tattoo of their owner’s family crest in the space between their shoulder blades. It hurt, but Harry kept back his tears and Lord Malfoy said he was proud of him for it. Then he was given a pair of soft boots, a few pairs of trousers made of canvas and a couple linen shirts. The fabric was undyed and a bit rough, but sturdy, and the clothes were well made.

Harry drifted off to sleep in a single bed in a room all his own next to Severus’, and he thought that being a slave was turning out to be much better than living free with the Dursleys.

* * *

 

Harry fought the urge to scuff his toes as he waited, watching Severus inspect the shelves. He had taken all the little identical pots off and mixed them up before telling Harry to put them all back in alphabetical order. At five years old, Harry knew his reading skills weren’t perfect, and sometimes it was hard to read Severus’ spidery handwriting, but he thought he had done pretty well.

Severus reached the end and turned to Harry, his face unreadable, and Harry swallowed hard. Then the man’s lip quirked. “Almost, Harry,” he said. “You’ve put wormwood before wolfsbane.” He plucked two pots out of the line and switched them. “You’re getting very good,” he praised, and Harry smiled shyly, looking down.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Harry, you don’t need to call me sir in our rooms,” Severus reminded. “I think that’s all for your morning lessons,” he added. “Go ahead and finish your chores, and then you can go play in the yard.”

Harry nodded again, rushing to put away the slate, chalk and scrolls they used for his morning lessons before he washed up their breakfast dishes and put those away too. His morning lessons were on reading and writing. Sometimes Severus was busy, like that morning, and gave him a task to do on his own that he checked over afterward, but usually they worked together. Harry’s afternoons were spent doing chores, the occasional odd task in the manor kitchen or garden, and playing in the yard. He helped the servants take the guard their middays and then stayed with them while they ate, cleaning up and listening to the stories they liked to tell him. Afterward he went to a corner of the yard where he could watch the new recruits being trained until it was time for dinner. He ate dinner with Severus, cleaned up, and then had his evening lessons, which were on potions and healing and usually revolved around whatever Severus was working on at the time.

Racing through the manor halls to the kitchen, where they would be ready to send out the guards’ middays, Harry skidded around a corner and ran smack into Lord Malfoy.

“Oh!” he gasped, wobbling backwards and dropping into the proper kneeling position, head down and hands in his lap. “My apologies, my Lord. I should have been more careful.”

“No harm done, Harry,” Lord Malfoy replied, gesturing for him to stand. “I’d like you to meet Remus Lupin, my new archivist.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of the sandy-haired man beside him. “Remus, if you have an odd jobs that need done, feel free to call on Harry. He’s quite an eager little helper.” Harry looked over at Remus, giving the man a shy smile.

Green eyes met amber, and Remus gasped, staggering. “Harry?” he whispered, reaching out a hand that hovered just over the wild black hair Harry never could comb flat. “Harry Potter?”

It was Harry’s turn to step back now, eyes wide and a hand slapped over his mouth. Who was this man? How could he know that name? Harry hadn’t told anyone since his Aunt had sold him! Fearful eyes flicking between Remus’ shock expression and Lord Malfoy’s curious, guarded one, Harry spun on his heel and ran.

He was hiding behind a sword rack in the arsenal when he was found. Sirius Black, captain of the guard, reached back a dragged him out, firmly but not harshly. He grinned down at the small boy, eyes dancing with mischief. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Harry croaked.

“Knew you were his son,” Sirius replied breezily. He tried to usher him outside, but Harry shook his head and refused to move. Sighing, he crouched and tossed the boy over his shoulder instead. “You look just like your father, you know that? Except for your eyes. You must have your mother’s eyes.”

“You know my father?” Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I knew him, yeah.” Sirius plunked him down on a bench in the corner of the yard and sat down beside him. “Lord James Potter, a minor Lord of Dorset. He died in that plague outbreak four years ago. He was the last of the main Potter line. Some cousin came in and took over the estate, a Longbottom I think, and brought his own household. That’s why I came here,” he explained. “As for you, I bet he met your mother on one of his trips to London and they, um, had a bit of a fling.”

“Were they married?” Harry asked, knowing that marriage was important for children and legitimacy.

“No,” Sirius shook his head. “Sorry, kid.”

Harry nodded. “I’m an orphan and a bastard,” he stated. It wasn’t a question, but Sirius nodded anyway. “And a slave.”

“Ah,” Sirius smirked suddenly, “see, that’s the complicated part. You’re the last Potter now. You have noble blood, and Lord Malfoy doesn’t really feel comfortable keeping a noble, even a bastard, as a slave.” Harry stared at him, and Sirius chuckled. “I’m going to raise you to be part of the guard instead. Lots of illegitimate and disowned noble children end up in the guard. Like me.”

Harry stared at his hands in his lap silently, taking it all in. He was the bastard son of a now-dead Lord, though that didn’t mean much to him at five years old. He wasn’t going to be a slave anymore, he was going to be part of the guard. He wasn’t going to be Severus’ assistant anymore. Was he free now, or just some sort of servant/guard-in-training? Could he still have lessons with Severus, or help in the kitchen and gardens?

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Sirius said, “but don’t worry. Nothing’s going to change too much yet. You’ll still live with Severus and do your chores and all, but you’ll have lessons with one my guards now too, either during midday or when the recruits are trained, I think, and you won’t have to wear that collar anymore.”

Harry’s hands rose to clutch at the collar. After two years of wearing it, he hardly noticed it anymore. Except when it got wet, he remembered, thinking of the way the cold, clammy leather would stick to his neck for hours.

“Can I go back to Severus now?” he whispered, still in shock.

“Sure, kid.” Sirius ruffled his head. “Go on.”

* * *

 

Twisting his spine, Harry studied the new tattoo in his small mirror. The rearing lion lay to the right side of his abdominal muscles, stretching from the top of his trousers to just below his right pectoral, its tail curving around his side. The ink was deep black and the lines sharp, unlike the dark grey of the crest on his back, just starting to go fuzzy at the edges. Harry twisted even further to look at his slave’s mark and sighed.

“What on earth have you done to yourself now?” a sharp voice asked acidly from the doorway.

Harry spun around, smiling sheepishly when faced with Severus’ glare. “Like it?” he asked weakly.

Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Magic save us from sixteen-year-old boys,” he muttered. “I suppose next you’ll tell me that everyone in the guard has one?”

Harry smirked. “You should see Podmore’s chest.”

“I believe I’ll pass.” He pointed imperiously to the bed. “At least let me check for infection.”

Harry sat and Severus crouched, casting a general diagnostic spell. When it turned up clean, he peered at the skin closely, running cool fingertips over the lines and making Harry twitch. “You’ve put runes in this,” he murmured, studying the symbols Harry had worked into the design.

“Yeah, a few for protection, healing and luck,” Harry replied. “They aren’t spells, there’s no extra magic in them, but they have enough magic of their own to do a little help.”

Severus pursed his lips and stood. “Very well,” he said, and Harry knew him well enough to know that it was as much approval as he was going to get. It was really the runes he approved anyway. He was very fond of Harry and disliked the idea of him being injured in the guard.

* * *

 

“Severus!” Harry shouted, kicking open the hall door. He dragged Sirius’ limp body with him, injured arm thrown over his shoulder. The man had lost his hand in the skirmish, and Harry had the tightest grip he could muster on Sirius’ forearm, just above the wound, to keep him from bleeding out.

Severus immediately rushed forward from his place in the back of the hall. The advisors seated around the table jumped up in shock, as did Lord Malfoy. His son, Draco Malfoy, who was Harry’s age, stared in horror.

“What has happened?” Malfoy demanded.

Supporting Sirius’ weight and still serving as a tourniquet, Harry could only incline his head in respect to his Lord. “Raiders, my Lord,” he answered. “An outlying patrol reported signs of a camp beyond the outer village. We’ve captured them all, my Lord, except the ones killed in the fighting. Sirius is our only real casualty. As far as I can tell, he took a bad step and a raider caught him just right.”

“And that particular raider?” Malfoy asked smoothly, raising an eyebrow.

Harry met his silver eyes briefly, showing his understanding of the question. “Is not among the prisoners, my Lord.”

Malfoy nodded sharply and strode past him to the yard, dismissing his advisors with a gesture. Harry could still feel eyes on him and looked around to see Draco Malfoy staring at him intently. “What about you?” he asked suddenly.

“My Lord?” asked Harry, not understanding.

Draco walked toward him slowly. “You said Captain Black was your only real casualty, but you’re injured as well.” He pointed to Harry’s shoulder, the one Sirius wasn’t leaning against, and Harry looked down. His navy blue tunic was torn and dark with the blood seeping from a large gash across his collarbone.

“Oh.”

“How old are you, guardsman?”

Harry wasn’t surprised the noble didn’t know his name. “Seventeen, my Lord.” Draco looked surprised, like he couldn’t believe this guard was the same age he was. Harry wondered if Draco thought he was older or younger. Older would be more flattering.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding,” Severus grunted, jerking both teen’s attention to him. He tapped Harry’s hand sharply. “Take him to my workroom.”

Harry released his tight grip, blood rushing back into his fingertips, and bent quickly to sweep Sirius up into his arms. Severus arranged his newly-shortened arm so it lay over his stomach and swept out of the hall. Adjusting his grip with a grunt, Harry followed. He could feel Draco’s eyes on his back all the way out of the hall.

* * *

 

“Um, my Lord called for me,” Harry told the guards at the door to the throne room as he surrendered his sword. They were both seasoned veterans who had been in the guard probably as long as Harry had been alive, at the tender age of eighteen. The senior guardsman, Sturgis Podmore, he of the elaborately tattooed chest, smirked at him.

“Yeah, we know.” He exchanged a look with his partner, a man named Gibbons, as they opened the doors. “Go on through, Potter,” he prompted with a wink.

Confused, Harry stepped through the doors and walked as confidently as he could toward the three thrones on the dais. He stopped at the appointed place, about ten feet away, and dropped to his knees, bowing his head and clasping his hands in the way slaves should.

“Harry Potter,” Lord Malfoy greeted, giving Harry permission to raise his head. Harry looked up as the Lord stood, a smile on his face. He signalled for him to stand up. “I have good news for you.”

“My Lord?”

Malfoy waved a hand to the guardsmen flanking the thrones at the back of the dais. “I have been speaking with my most trusted, most experienced members of the guard. With Captain Black unable to fight anymore, my guard needs a new captain, does it not?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry answered when he paused.

“The guards that I spoke to, each and every one, have all agreed on one person to be their captain.” The Lord’s smile widened. “You.”

“Me, my Lord?” Harry gasped. Malfoy nodded once. “My Lord, you honour me.”

“It is an honour well deserved,” Malfoy replied. He held out a hand, and a page rushed to give him a small scroll. “Now, I have here your slavery contract, which it occurs to me that I never formally released you from.”

Harry swallowed hard, confused and worried.

With a smirk, Malfoy unrolled the scroll and held it up. “Harry Potter, you have served me well and faithfully in all that I have asked,” he said and ripped the parchment down the middle. “I declare you free.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Harry choked out, eyes watering. Lady Malfoy, a beautiful woman with golden hair and blue eyes seated to her husband’s left, smiled kindly at him, and Draco regarded him with curiosity.

At another hand gesture from Lord Malfoy, a page stepped forward to clasp the long, blue captain’s cloak over his shoulders and hang a new hand-and-a-half sword on his belt, adjusting the cloak so the sword could be seen.

When the page stepped back, Harry unsheathed the sword and slid to one knee, pressing his right hand in a fist over his heart. He still remembered the oath guardsmen made to their Lord and adjusted it to his new rank. “Lord Malfoy, I swear by my heart and my sword to serve and protect, truly and faithfully, with steel, magic and heart, as captain of the guard.”

Coming forward and placing his hand over Harry’s left on the pommel of the sword, Lord Malfoy replied, “Serve me well, Captain Potter, and serve my family.”

That night, only the men with dawn patrols stopped drinking before they passed out.

* * *

 

“Lord Slytherin is to receive every courtesy due to a guest in this manor,” Malfoy proclaimed, “but he will receive no more than that. My father might have supported him once, but my father has been dead these twenty years. I am Lord Malfoy of Wiltshire now, and I have no intention of supporting his foolish ideals.”

Murmuring swept through the advisors, but they all nodded. Standing in the shadows behind Lord Malfoy’s chair, Harry silently approved. As captain of the guard, Harry was present at all of the Lord’s meetings and general assemblies. He had heard a number of disturbing things about the rogue Lord, the man who called himself Voldemort Lord Slytherin, and his misguided attempt to overthrow the King. As King, Lord Albus Dumbledore had held Britain together without civil war, a feat generations had thought impossible, and every county thrived in the peacetime.

Harry stepped forward as Malfoy dismissed the advisors and beckoned him closer. “Yes, my Lord?”

“I have heard multiple reports of an…unpleasant rumour surrounding Slytherin,” Malfoy said. “Each report unfortunately bearing some truth. It seems most of Slytherin’s supporters are coerced by threats against their heirs.” He fixed Harry with a serious look. “I will not have anything of the sort happen to Draco.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Harry replied, angry at the very thought that this would-be usurper would ever harm any of the Malfoys.

“I know that there are some matters in the guard that require your attention, but I want you to protect Draco yourself,” the Lord ordered. “You are the captain, the very best I have, and nothing less will ease mine or my Lady wife’s mind. Understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good.” Lord Malfoy relaxed, leaning back in his chair again. “A room has been prepared for you, as part of Draco’s suit. My son prefers not to live with a servant, so the room is empty at the moment. I would like you to be moved in by nightfall. Adjust your schedule this afternoon and have your second take over your regular duties. I will not have you leaving Draco’s side while this…man is in the manor.”

“Understood, my Lord.” Harry bowed, fist over his heart, and was dismissed. As he swept from the hall, captain’s cloak flowing out behind him, his mind was already full of changes to the duty roster.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oi, Wood! Flint!” Harry called as he entered the guard barracks. Both men jumped up off their bunks and snapped to attention.

“Yes sir!” They smirked as Harry rolled his eyes, still finding it weird that people older than him responded so quickly.

“The Lord has me babysitting while Slytherin is here, starting tonight,” he explained. “I’m moving you two off your duty rosters.” Harry turned to his second-in-command first, a tall, broad-shouldered man of twenty-two. “Wood, I’m assigning you to Lord Malfoy. Shadow him in any meetings and assemblies. You’re in charge of the roster for manor guards as well.”

“Yes, Captain,” Wood nodded.

Harry turned to Flint. Marcus Flint was a year older than Oliver Wood, wide where Wood was lean, and absolutely vicious in hand-to-hand combat, though not among the most magically powerful of the guard. “Flint, you’re taking over patrols and any trips they take outside the inner village. With Wood acting as captain, you’ll be his second. If anything happens, beyond the usual sick or hungover man, come to me. Got it?”

They both nodded and gave him shallow bows.

“Good luck with the little Lord!” Flint called teasingly as Harry left the barracks. Harry flipped him off without turning around and heard Wood and Flint burst into laughter.

Harry walked quickly through the manor to Severus’ rooms, careful not to shut his cloak in the door as he closed it behind him. He hadn’t lived with Severus since he became captain, but he still took lessons on his free evenings. Knowing he couldn’t visit his old friend and father figure while Slytherin was visiting, he wanted to collect some books and scrolls Severus had him reading.

“One last visit?” Severus asked, looking up from his books as Harry entered. He immediately conjured a flame to heat the kettle.

“You’ve heard, then,” Harry surmised, taking off his cloak and sword belt and sitting in his old place at the scoured wooden table.

“Of course I have,” Severus scoffed. “Lucius asked my opinion on the idea to begin with.”

“Then what on earth does he need all those advisors for?” Harry asked with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m not to leave his Lordship’s side until Slytherin’s gone, and that’s at least a fortnight from now. Starting tonight.”

“I suppose you’ll want your books, then,” Severus murmured, and Harry nodded, taking the tea offered to him. “I expect you to keep up with your studies as much as you can, then.”

“Of course, Sev,” Harry laughed, used to his old tutor’s high expectations. “Brewed anything complicated lately?” He sipped his tea with a fond smile as the physician launched into a monologue on the bone-mending potion he had finally perfected.

* * *

 

“Father, this is absurd!” Draco cried, throwing himself down on his sofa. “I don’t need some old soldier to babysit me!”

“Draco, do not whine,” Lucius scolded. “Slytherin has only gained support by threatening noble heirs. Nott’s son, Theodore, ended up on his deathbed when Nott refused his support and was suddenly healthy again when Nott changed his mind. The same thing happened to Avery’s son and Parkinson’s daughter. You _will_ be protected at all times.”

Recognising the flat tone of finality in his father’s voice, Draco sighed in defeat. “Fine. And which cranky old veteran will I have the pleasure of living with?”

“I believe that would be me,” a deep voice said from the door.

Draco eyes snapped open to fix on Captain Potter, of the untameable raven hair, looking as young and fit as usual in the navy uniform that clung to him the way Draco wished some of his tailored clothes would. Broad shoulders tapered down to a trim waist, emphasised by the sword belt cinched above his hips. Cream trousers that did nothing to hide the sturdy muscles of his legs were tucked into slightly worn but well-polished leather boots. Potter had a canvas rucksack tossed across his back, his royal blue captain’s cloak tucked in the crook of his arm rather than clasped over his shoulders.

“Do I pass inspection, my Lord?” Potter asked. Draco looked up at dancing green eyes that had definitely noticed the full-body scan Draco had just given him. He flushed, embarrassed.

“I suppose I can deal with the situation, if it’s to be the captain of the guard,” Draco drawled, and he saw Lucius supress an eye roll.

“This way, Captain Potter.” Lucius gestured to the small room off the private sitting room, meant for a valet or manservant. “Your room connects here and to Draco’s bedchamber. It isn’t very big, I’m afraid.”

Potter chuckled. “It can’t be any smaller than the room in Severus’ quarters,” he said good-naturedly, putting his bag on the bed and hanging his cloak up on the hook by the door. “I had to sleep diagonally after my last growth spurt!”

Lucius laughed and slapped Potter on the shoulder in a fatherly fashion. Draco gritted his teeth. Who did Potter think he was, sauntering in and acting all familiar with his Lord? He had never seen the guardsman act this way before, and it puzzled Draco.

“I will sleep well at night, knowing my only son is so well protected,” Lucius said, and Potter’s ears went red. “Who will take your place?”

Potter’s whole demeanour changed as the talk turned to business, becoming serious and deferential. His back straightened and the humour slipped from his face. “Wood, my second, will be in charge of your safety, my Lord, and Marcus Flint will lead patrols and any excursions your party wishes to take.”

Lucius nodded in approval. “I will leave you to unpack, then.”

Potter bowed, fist over his heart, as he left. As soon as Lucius was gone, he straightened up and fixed Draco with a flat look. “Let’s get this straight right now,” he said, sounding so much like Severus that Draco flinched. “You do not go anywhere without me. I don’t care if you want to go out at midnight to a Low Town brothel, you take me with you. I’m not here to report on your actions to your father, I’m here to keep you safe, and that is exactly what I intend to do. Understand?”

“You would do well to remember your place, Captain Potter,” Draco said tightly.

Potter blanked his face, hiding his emotions before Draco could even guess at his reaction, and bowed with his fist over his heart. Draco was impressed.

“Feel free to settle in, Potter,” he said, settling back on the sofa and drawing the nearest book towards him. “I have no intentions of going anywhere this evening.”

He could barely hear Potter’s soft tread, somehow nearly silent despite the sturdy boots, as he moved around his room. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the captain fold his clothes meticulously and tuck them away in the small chest. He was surprised when Potter set out a couple books on the little table, along with a quill, ink, and a large scroll of parchment. Apparently completely unpacked, Potter selected one of the slimmer tomes and came out the sitting room to sit against the wall by the fire, of all places.

“I wasn’t aware guardsmen could read,” Draco quipped as Potter settled his sword comfortably against his side and leg.

“A guardsman is not the same as a common foot soldier,” Potter murmured. “Everyone in my guard can read and write. I’m almost as educated as you are, but I’m an unusual case.”

Draco reeled, dumbfounded by the way Potter had cut straight to the heart of his stereotyping. As a noble, Draco did view all fighting people as the same. He thought of the guard as dumb, vulgar, bloodthirsty men, just like the villagers that joined up when an army was called for.

“I highly doubt that,” he scoffed. Sarcasm was a defensive reaction for him. Potter just raised his book, showing Draco the subject matter. Even Draco didn’t know anything about wards and defensive magic based in blood, and here Potter was, reading about it casually to pass the time!

Feeling suddenly inadequate, Draco shut his novel with a snap and stomped off toward his bedchamber, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 

Harry raked a hand through his hand, trying fruitlessly to get it to lay flat, as he waited for Draco to finish dressing. The noble fiddled with his tunic for ages, then spent another age picking out robes, before he finally declared himself done and dismissed his poor, put-upon servant. Harry felt bad for him, a man their age named Seamus. They were friendly with each other, and Harry used to have easy conversations with him in the kitchens before he became captain.

“Ready?” Draco sniffed, as though Harry was the one holding them up. Harry held in a sigh as he followed the noble into the hall, his blue cloak sweeping out behind him.

As they approached the yard, where the greeting party was assembled, Harry laid his left hand lightly on the pommel of his sword and subtly adjusted the wand holster strapped to the same forearm. All guardsmen who could use a wand trained to cast left-handed, since the held their swords in their right.

Taking his place behind Draco, Harry cast a quick look over at Wood, standing behind the Lord, and Evan Pucey, the Lady’s personal guard. His younger brother, Adrian, was one of Harry’s patrol leaders in the outer village.

At Harry’s suggestion, all three personal guards wore long cloaks for the duration of Lord Slytherin’s stay. Lord Malfoy had agreed that it would make Draco’s protection far less obvious. Harry kept his bright blue cloak, while Wood had one the same colour as the navy guard tunic and Pucey’s was a few shades lighter than Harry’s, though not quite reaching the pale blue Malfoy family colour.

The distant sound of clacking horseshoes, jangling harnesses and rattling carriage wheels alerted Harry to the nearness of the oncoming visitors. He waited half a minute before the tower guards called the alert. “Party arriving!”

“Attention,” Harry said sharply, his voice carrying through the yard, and every guardsman tightened up his stance, standing ramrod straight.

Slytherin’s carriage was emerald green with silver accents and his crest, two intertwined snakes, on the door. His guard wore all black and his servants were dressed in dark grey. The Lord himself had on deep green robes, stark against his pale skin. All his pale skin, since he was completely bald.

“Lord Slytherin,” Malfoy greeted, stepping forward and holding out his hand.

“Lord Malfoy,” Slytherin replied, taking it. Three more people stepped from the carriage behind him, two men who were clearly brothers and a woman with dark, curly hair left free. “My companions and trusted friends, Lord Rodolphus Lestrange and his younger brother, Rabastan. Lord Lestrange’s wife has joined us as well, but I believe your Lady wife is already familiar with her.”

“Hello, Narcissa,” Lady Lestrange called.

“Bellatrix,” Lady Malfoy replied, her voice faintly tight. “It has been a while, hasn’t it, sister?”

Harry heard Draco gasp, but he carefully kept his face blank. The guard had no business being anything but stoic while on duty.

“I’m sure your ride has been long and uncomfortable,” Malfoy said, gesturing to the manor. “Shall we go inside, and you all can retire to your rooms to rest.”

A black-clothed guard dismounted and stepped forward. “Walden Macnair, the captain of my guard,” Slytherin introduced carelessly.

Harry shot Flint a look, and he stepped forward. “Marcus Flint. I’ll show you where you and your men will be staying.” Macnair glared, his gaze sweeping across the trio behind the Malfoys. Harry could tell he was angry at not being met by the captain and maybe not being able to tell who the captain was, and Harry was relieved that his ideas seemed to be working.

As he followed Draco into the hall, Harry gave a short nod. Every guard around the yard relaxed into a resting stance.

* * *

 

Draco had been bored at the welcoming banquet and probably drank too much wine. That would explain why his bed seemed to keep sliding away as he stepped closer. Frustrated, Draco tried to jump onto it, only to crash to the stone floor in a painful heap.

“What in the name of magic are you doing in here?” Potter scolded sharply, coming through the door between their rooms. Draco looked up at him pitifully from his upside-down position on the floor.

Potter must have been getting ready for bed. He was barefoot and shirtless, dressed only in his cream-coloured trousers that were slipping down his hips without a belt. He set the short sword he was carrying down and proceeded to heave Draco up. Draco’s body was not cooperating and he flopped in Potter’s grasp, giving him a close view of a rearing lion inked onto the captain’s side that Draco had certainly not expected to be there.

Then Potter heaved again, and Draco found himself cradled against a warm, solid chest. Protesting the saddened change in position, he pressed his face against the bare skin over Potter’s heart, surrounded by the steady beat and Potter’s clean smell, faintly tinged with dried potions ingredients.

Potter balanced Draco in one arm to pull back the covers, a surprisingly casual display of strength that would make Draco a liar if he said it wasn’t a little arousing, even in his intoxicated state. Instead of dumping him, the captain settled him down carefully and all but tucked him in.

“Don’t get up again,” he snapped, picking up his sword again and closing the door behind him. In the sudden darkness, Draco drifted off to dreams of strong arms, green eyes, and lion tattoos.

His mouth tasted disgusted when he woke to Seamus flinging open his curtains. He groaned and curled up, trying to hide from the light.

“Rise and shine, my Lord,” Seamus chirped. “Your father has requested you attend this morning’s meeting.”

“Mm,” Draco grumbled. “Is Potter up yet?”

“Potter wakes at dawn and has been waiting an hour for breakfast,” the captain called from his room, opening the door. He leaned against the frame, fully dressed and already armed with his cloak over his arm.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco grunted, rolling out of bed. “Seamus, I want the black tunic.”

“And would you like the white, tan, or blue trousers?” the servant replied seamlessly. Draco picked the pale Malfoy blue leggings, feeling vaguely uncomfortable as Potter watched him dress.

“Something interesting, Potter?” he snapped as Seamus did up his belt and boots.

“This is all very civilised.” Potter smirked. “You ought to see mornings in the barracks. There isn’t enough light in the winter, and there’s lots of stumbling around and cursing.”

“How very uncouth,” Draco sneered.

“We don’t all have choices in our clothing, my _Lord_ ,” Potter replied, laying emphasis on the title, and Draco flushed.

“Is my breakfast ready?” Draco changed the subject, turning to his servant.

“Yes, my Lord.” Seamus finished buckling his knife to his belt and stepped back. It was a hunting knife, but Draco only ever used it at the table. “Captain Potter, the kitchen sent up the usual guard’s fare for you. If you want something else, I can-“

“That’s fine, Seamus.” Potter quirked a grin at the servant that made Draco’s chest thump. “I’ve eaten guard’s fare for thirteen years. No reason to change now.”

* * *

 

Harry could think of few things worse than dealing with a bored, half-way drunk young nobleman. Being dragged behind a pair of horses, maybe, or repeatedly stabbed in the eyes. But this was definitely up there.

Not to mention Harry wanted to stab himself in the eyes sometimes.

“Captain Potter!” Draco called, downing another glass of wine. “Come sit down!” Harry sighed and pressed he heel of his hand against his forehead, but he couldn’t ignore a reasonable order from his Lord. “No!” Draco said, pausing Harry in the middle of trying to sit in the chair opposite Draco’s. “Here.”

He pointed to the rug on the floor in front of his chair. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco just pointed more emphatically. Harry sat.

“You’re so serious,” Draco muttered. “All the time.” He tugged clumsily on Harry’s shoulders until he leaned back against the chair. “What’s your first name, Potter?”

“Harry, my Lord.”

“Harry,” Draco repeated softly. He buried his hand in Harry’s dark hair. Harry tensed at the sudden contact, then relaxed despite himself as Draco nails scratched lightly across his scalp. “I can’t figure you out, Harry Potter.”

“I wasn’t aware I was so interesting, my Lord.”

“Well, you are.” Harry let the young noble tilt his head back and run his fingers through his fringe. “Tell me about yourself, Harry.”

Harry frowned. “What do you want to know, my Lord?”

Draco sighed heavily. One of his legs slipped off the armrest and landed across Harry’s shoulder, warm and heavy. “I don’t know, anything! Where are you from? How did you end up here?”

Harry shifted awkwardly, trying to keep from leaning his head against Draco’s leg. “I lived in a small village in southern Wiltshire until I was three, my Lord. My mother died in the last plague outbreak, and my Aunt sold me into slavery two years later.” Draco’s hand tensed in his hair. “My Lord bought me then, and I ended up here. No one knew my father’s name until I was five, when Remus Lupin showed up.”

“Lupin, the archivist?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Draco’s hand slipped down the side of his face. “Go on.”

Harry swallowed hard as slim fingers brushed over his lips. “I’m the bastard son of the last Lord Potter. My father was a minor Lord of Dorset who also died in the plague. My Lord pretty much freed me when he found out, and I was raised to be part of the guard instead.”

“How old were you then?”

“Um, five, my Lord,” Harry muttered, distracted by the fingertips tracing the tendons in his neck.

“Ugh, ‘my Lord,’ always ‘my Lord,’ Draco groaned, moving his hand back to Harry’s hair. “If I call you Harry, then you have to call me Draco.”

“Alright, Draco.”

The noble fell silent then, though he hand stayed in Harry’s hair. Harry stared at the fire for a long time, remembering his early days in Malfoy Manor. When he looked up again, Draco had fallen asleep, head lolling on his shoulder and mouth open.

“You really shouldn’t drink like that,” Harry muttered, standing. He scooped the unconscious blond into his arms. “This is the second night in a week I’ve had to put you to bed, you know.”

It wasn’t the first time Harry had dealt with someone passed out drunk, but Draco was lighter and more fragile-looking than any of the guardsmen. Working quickly, used to the routine, Harry stripped him down to his breeches and pulled the covers over him. He folded the clothes, stoked up the fire with a quick spell, and shut the door, ready to collapse into his own bed.

He could still feel those soft, warm fingertips tracing the curve of his upper lip.

* * *

 

Draco woke, disoriented and confused, as the room flooded with weak winter sunlight. He didn’t remember going to bed last night. For that matter, he didn’t remember calling Seamus in to undress him, or even doing it himself, but he was definitely no in bed in his clothes.

Actually, the last thing his remembered was listening to Potter talking quietly and marvelling at the softness of his wild black hair.

He didn’t…?

“Seamus, did I call you in last night?”

The servant frowned at him. “No, my Lord. You dismissed me after dinner.”

He _did_.

“I want to go riding today,” he said imperiously, climbing out of bed. Seamus brought him his buckskin leggings and a white tunic. “Potter, are you up?” he called, tying up the laces on his leggings.

“You know I always wake at dawn, right?” the captain grumbled, throwing open the door between their rooms. He must have been bathing, since he was towelling off his bare chest. The beltless cream-coloured trousers were sliding down his hips again. They slipped dangerously low as he ran the towel through his hair. Draco flushed and looked away.

He couldn’t keep his eyes away from the well-formed young captain for long, though. Draco watched, transfixed, as he went through his own dressing routine. Potter tucked an undyed, short-sleeved linen shirt into his canvas trousers. His mail hauberk went over that, reaching to his elbows and partway down his thighs. The navy blue guardsman’s tunic covered the metal links completely. Sword belt and vambraces, for his forearms, went over the tunic.

On the underside of his left vambrace he holstered a wand, and Draco felt his mouth fall open.

“Where did you get that?”

“This, my Lord?” He rolled his arm, displaying the length of wood. “I tested for it. My father was a noble and my mother was unusually powerful for her station, so no one was surprised I can use a wand.”

Draco had so many questions, but he held them back. He was still annoyed that the guardsman had undressed him for bed. It made him uncomfortable to think of those strong fingers, callused from training with swords and riding, sliding across his skin, shedding clothes in their wake…

Maybe ‘uncomfortable’ wasn’t quite the right word. Draco could feel his ears going warm.

“We’re going riding after breakfast,” he informed. “Seamus, I’ll take the horse. Not the Thestral.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Seamus bowed quickly, then turned to where Potter was lounging against the doorframe. “Shall I tell the stables to prepare your horse as well, Captain Potter?”

“If you don’t mind, Seamus,” Potter smiled. “Thank you.”

Seamus smiled easily back at the captain and bowed again before hurrying from the room.

Draco picked at his poached eggs, trying not to think about the man across the table, heartily enjoying his sausage and bread. He frowned as Potter took two large bites out of his apple and pocketed it.

“Ready?” he asked, swing a leg over the bench and standing as Draco swiped up the last bit of yolk. Seamus stepped forward and fastened a long black riding cloak over Draco’s shoulders.

“What’s your hurry, Potter?”

The captain’s lip twitched. “I don’t think I’ve ever been idle in my life. I don’t quite know what to do with myself.”

“What, never?” Draco asked, astonished. He remembered having hours of his childhood all to himself to play in his rooms or sometimes explore his father’s suit.

Potter shrugged. “When I was little, I used to bring the guardsmen their middays, and they would tell me stories as I cleaned up. I got to watch the recruits train for a bit afterwards.” He grinned. “If I was sitting around without any chores, Severus just gave me lessons.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Draco muttered, pulling on rabbit fur lined gloves as they approached the stables. Potter did likewise, though his were mail-backed leather. Greeting the grooms with a smile, Potter headed toward an aging chestnut stallion. Patting the animal’s neck, he offered up the half-eaten apple. As the stallion crunched on the core, Potter checked over the tack.

“He’s not going to be good for work much longer,” the groom with the stallion’s lead said.

“Yeah,” Potter sighed. “Good old Prongs.” He turned to Draco’s dappled grey gelding, Monsieur, and checked the tack on it. “Right then,” he said, swinging up into his saddle with an ease Draco was envious of. “Where shall we go, my Lord?”

Draco clambered up onto Monsieur with far less grace, glaring as Potter watched him. “Ever been to the deer park, Captain Potter?”

“Only with hunting parties, my Lord.”

“Well,” Draco smirked, “it’s got some excellent riding paths. Good for racing.” He spurred Monsieur into movement and heard Potter take off after him.

* * *

 

Harry followed just behind Draco at a trot, watching the noble post effortlessly on his beautiful grey animal. His black cloak rippled in little waves over the horse’s back as he moved, and Harry wondered if he looked so elegant.

They hadn’t done any racing, despite what Draco had said when they set off, which Harry didn’t mind. If they did, would it be alright for him to beat the noble if he could?

The Draco Malfoy that had greeted him that morning was not the same Draco Malfoy he had put to bed last night. Possibly the blond was embarrassed, and Harry might have been too, if he hadn’t grown up among the guard. As it was, Harry was far too used to half-dressed and even naked men. Gay or straight, everyone was naked in the guard at some point.

Harry wondered if Draco liked men or women. Either was acceptable in the nobility, especially under the tolerant rule of the King, as long as the couple could have children. Generally, that meant only couples magically powerful enough to do the spells, or rich enough to afford a physician’s help, married. Harry himself was certainly powerful enough, and, from what he knew of the blond, Draco was too.

And that was a line of thinking he should never go down again, he decided, shaking his head. Draco could flirt all he wanted when he was drunk, but Harry wouldn’t let himself think anything of it. A former slave, even if he was now captain of the guard, was still a marked man, nowhere near equal to a noble heir. Harry couldn’t be with Draco, even as a quick shag, while he was on duty, and he was on duty until Slytherin left.

Besides, once Slytherin was gone, Harry wouldn’t be around Draco much anymore. The blond would lose interest quickly.

“What are you thinking so intently about, Potter?” Draco asked, looking over his shoulder.

Harry jerked his head up. “The last raider camp my patrols found,” he lied. “There are less and less every time, and somehow, I don’t think it’s a good thing.”

Draco narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You were the one who dragged Captain Black back, weren’t you? The one with the injured shoulder?”

Surprised he remembered, Harry nodded. “Yes, my Lord. Severus fixed me up, and it barely scarred.”

“I remember you,” Draco said quietly. “I thought you were older than you were. You didn’t seem my age.” He looked over at Harry, slowing his horse to fall beside him. “You still seem older than me.”

“If you say so, my Lord.”

“I asked you to call me Draco, didn’t I?” he frowned. “Last night?”

“When you called me Harry, my Lord,” the captain explained. “You’ve called me Potter all morning, so I assumed you didn’t remember.”

“Well then, Harry,” Draco smirked, “feel free to call me Draco whenever it’s just us. I expect we’ll be spending a lot of time together now.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, then fell silent at the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. He turned Prongs sharply and brought him to a stop, cutting off Draco’s question with a raised hand. One of his recruits came dashing around the corner of the path.

“Captain Potter!” he panted, coming to a halt and bracing his hands on his knees. “Lord Malfoy has a message for you and requests that you return to the manor as soon as possible.” He held out a small scroll.

Harry took it and slid the Malfoy blue ribbon off. “Thank you, Creevey,” he dismissed, nodding in reply to Dennis Creevey’s short bow.

“What is it?” Draco demanded as Harry read over the missive and pocketed it.

“Your father’s refused to support Slytherin and he’s angry about it. He made a threat against you already,” he explained, spurring Prongs into a gallop. Keeping Draco on his left, Harry watched the brush around them the whole way back.

Dismounting in the yard, he could feel eyes on the back of his neck. Looking up, he saw Slytherin’s guard captain, Macnair, watching him from a window in the guest wing. Feeling uneasy, he slid closer to Draco.

“Must you?” Draco groaned.

“Yes,” Harry replied shortly. He stayed close enough to touch the blond as he followed him back to his rooms.

“Potter, I think I can enter my own rooms,” Draco complained.

Harry caught him by the back of his cloak and yanked him back. “With all due respect, my Lord, this is my job, and you’re going to let me do it.” He held Draco’s glare steadily until the blond gave in and let him go first.

Harry was glad he had forced the issue. He could feel a faint prickle of Dark Magic across his skin, itching uncomfortably. He unsheathed both wand and sword and crept forward, following the magic in the air.

It was centered on Draco’s bed. Harry remembered that the Nott heir and Parkinson’s daughter had both fallen ill during the night. Slytherin seemed to be casting curses on their beds and letting the magic soak into them as they slept. The same would have happened to Draco, if he slept there.

The prickle was already fading, and Harry had a suspicion that he could only feel it because it was still fresh. Too much longer and no one would have known.

“Sit,” he ordered, coming back out into the sitting room. Draco sat, and he sent Seamus to fetch Severus. “A Dark curse was laid on your bed.” Draco’s mouth fell open. “Now do you believe that I’m here to protect you?”

Draco nodded weakly, raking a hand through his fine blond hair. Harry wondered briefly if Draco would let him feel it, like he had done with Harry’s hair.

“This had better be important enough to justify a ruined potion, Harry Potter,” Severus scowled coming through the door. Harry shook away his errant thoughts, snapping back to the matter at hand.

* * *

 

Harry sat on his bed with a groan, exhausted after an hour of cursebreaking with Severus. He removed his boots slowly, letting them drop to the floor. Using strong, concentrated magic for too long always left him with an ache in his bones. He fumbled as he unbuckled his vambraces, knowing he wouldn’t be up at dawn that morning.

“Harry?” Draco called from their shared doorway. “You alright?” Harry figured he must have heard his groan.

“Yeah, just tired,” Harry replied, finally get his vambraces off. “Do you need something, Draco?”

Draco licked his lips, hesitating, then stepped forward. “I just wanted to thank you,” he said quietly. “I know I haven’t made it…particularly enjoyable for you, staying here, but if you hadn’t noticed that curse-“

“Draco,” Harry cut him off, “I’m doing my job. Regardless of how much of an arse you are, I’m still just going to do my job.”

Draco looked like he wanted to protest, but just nodded instead. He watched Harry try to unbuckle his sword belt with clumsy fingers. “Do you need help?”

Harry sighed, letting his hands drop. “Yeah, I do. I haven’t done that much magic in a while, it’s draining. If you could just call Seamus-“

“Don’t be stupid, Harry,” Draco grinned suddenly, stepping right up into Harry’s space. “I’m perfectly capable of undressing you myself, I’m not an invalid.” His nimble fingers made quick work of the sword belt, laying it to the side with the vambraces.

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as Draco’s palms slid up his torso, removing tunic and hauberk together. A series of sharp tugs untucked his shirt, and the nobleman’s warm hands left gooseflesh where they brushed against his skin. Picking his hips off the bed for a second, he let Draco strip him of trousers and stockings.

“ _Harry_ ,” he murmured, his voice husky in a way Harry hadn’t heard before, and those warm, nimble fingers danced over the faint scar on his shoulder. Harry opened his eyes to see a hot silver gaze far closer than he’s expected. It was the only warning he had before soft lips pressed against his.

Groggy and surprised, Harry didn’t react, freezing. Then Draco started nibbling hungrily on his upper lip, and Harry pulled back.

“Don’t,” he warned in the sharpest voice he could muster. “Just…don’t.”

“Harry,” Draco pleaded, wrapping a hand around his hip, and Harry could feel the heat of it through the thin linen of his breeches. _“Please.”_

“Go to bed,” he sighed. “We can talk in the morning, but please just let me sleep.”

“Alright, yeah,” Draco mumbled, already backing away, “alright. Goodnight, Harry.” He didn’t look at Harry again, easing the door closed behind him.

“Goodnight, my Lord,” Harry murmured, already slipping into sleep.

Three sharp knocks on his outer door woke him in the morning. Harry blinked blearily, knowing the sun had long since risen.

“Up and at ‘em, Captain Potter,” Seamus called cheerily. Harry threw his pillow at the door and heard Seamus break into laughter on the other side.

He suddenly remembered what had happened the night before and buried his face in his hands with a groan. How stupid was he, letting Draco kiss him like that? Then to tell him they would talk about it in the morning! He couldn’t be with the noble, and he blamed his exhaustion for not coming up with a way to avoid the whole situation.

He splashed some water on his face and dressed quickly, ignoring the phantom feeling of Draco’s hands on his chest the night before. Taking a deep breath, he carefully blanked his face and stepped out into the sitting room, as ready as he could be to face the world.

“Morning, my Lord.”

Draco looked up at him with an expression bordering on a glare. The heat in his silver eyes nearly stopped Harry in his tracks, but he pushed on, sitting across the table and digging into his breakfast.

“Seamus, you’re dismissed,” Draco ordered sharply, never looking away from Harry. “Come back later for the dishes.” The servant looked warily between them, but accepted the order with a bow.

“Draco…”

“Care to explain, Potter?”

“Magic help me,” Harry muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “What is it you want from me, my Lord?” he snapped, and a surge of vicious satisfaction ran through him as Draco leaned back. “A lover? A brief affair? Maybe just a quick shag?”

Draco was shaking his head, but Harry ignored him. “I’m part of your father’s household. I _work_ for you, I’m not your _equal_. You deserve an equal, and I won’t be anyone’s secret lover.”

He stood and came around the table. As he reached Draco’s side, he dropped down to one knee, holding out his sword and pressing his right fist to his heart. “This is my place, my Lord. Not in your bed.”

“Harry,” Draco slid to his knees on the stone floor in front of him. He cupped and hand over Harry’s cheek, but the captain kept his face blank and his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, and Draco let go. “I’m not looking for anything more than whatever you’re willing to give me.”

“Then please accept my apologies, my Lord,” Harry said formally. “My only purpose is your safety.”

* * *

 

Draco sat to his father’s right, trying to calm his racing thoughts. They all centered on the man calmly reporting to Lucius on the curse that Slytherin had laid on Draco’s bed. Harry had seemed so soft and relaxed the night before, quietly submitting to Draco handling him, and he just hadn’t been able to help himself. It was the first time he could see that Harry really was the same age as him. The captain was always so strong and serious, so much more worldly than Draco, and not like anything he had expected from the youngest captain of the guard in memory. He actually felt safer with Captain Potter watching him, which he hadn’t imagined before.

Now he was imagining how safe he’d feel held in those strong arms, tucked under the rich covers of his bed. He could press his nose against that scar on Harry’s shoulder, breathing in his clean, herbal smell, and fall asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeat. Would Harry sleep on his back, or would he wrap around Draco as much as Draco wanted to wrap around him, pressing those dry lips against Draco’s hair…

“Do you believe he’ll try again?” Lucius asked, startling Draco from his reverie.

“I do, my Lord,” Harry replied. “His usual tactic hasn’t worked, but he will still want your cooperation. Yours is the wealthiest family Lord Slytherin has approached so far, he needs your support.”

Lucius rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip thoughtfully. “He won’t try the same curse again.”

“I do not believe so, my Lord,” Harry agreed. “I expect him to be more…direct. He’ll likely try to catch him while I’m asleep.”

Eyes narrowed, Lucius nodded. “Do what you must to keep my son safe, Captain Potter.” Harry bowed, fist over his heart, and retired to a place in the shadows by the door. “Slytherin has informed me that he will stay another week. He is…persistant.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco murmured, tearing his eyes away from Harry’s shadowy form.

Lucius raised an eyebrow at him. “How are you getting on with Captain Potter?”

“Well enough,” Draco said, flushing. “He’s very professional.”

“You haven’t been able to charm him yet, then?” Lucius asked nonchalantly.

“Father!”

Lucius smirked. “I’m not blind, Draco. Wherever your mind has wandered this week, your eyes are always fixed on Harry.” He gripped his son’s shoulder bracingly. “He’s a good man, isn’t he? A very good man.”

The Lord stood, signalling for Wood to follow him as he left the hall. Draco sat for a moment, staring, but his own guard stayed in the shadows. He couldn’t even see the expression on his face.

“Let’s go to the gardens, Potter,” he decided, standing. He hadn’t been to the manor gardens since he was a small child, but the sun was unusually warm for early winter and he wanted to feel it.

“As you wish, my Lord.”

Draco discovered another new side of Harry Potter in the gardens. He was the trusted captain with an iron will, the stoic and loyal guardsman doing anything to protect, the learned student of magical arts, the soft young man nearly boneless with exhaustion, and now this smiling friend of gardeners and kitchen maids. He greeted everyone they passed, most by name. Old women cooks and stooped gardeners welcomed him back like a grandson, pressing fresh sugar peas and carrots into his hands. He took off his cloak with a grin, tossing it over a fence and freeing up his arms to help one of the ancient cooks carry baskets.

Draco joined in without a thought, just to work beside Harry and have that smile turned his way.

“I’ve always loved working in the gardens,” Harry told him as they sat on a bench in the kitchen, shelling peas. Draco didn’t know how he’d ended up there, he’d just followed Harry. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind it. The work was simple, and Harry seemed willing to talk to him when his hands were busy. “Plants were most of my education, living with Severus and all, but all his things are dried and powered and in clay pots. Everything in the gardens is alive and growing.

“After my morning chores were done, I’d always rush off to the gardens or the kitchens and just…hang around until it was midday. They always gave me little jobs to do. Dig up these carrots and wash them, take those baskets to the kitchen, turn the roasting spit, that sort of thing. Even once I was in the guard, I’d always spend part of my days off around here, helping out.”

“And now?” Draco asked, smiling at the thought of a little wild-haired boy running around the kitchen, all smiles and chatter as he carried big baskets he could barely hold.

Harry’s smile turned wistful. “I don’t really have days off now, I always seem to be working. I still come down and have my midday here when I can. Seamus and I eat together fairly often.”

Draco looked down at the bowl in his lap, half-full of peas he’d shelled without noticing. “I never would have thought to come down here,” he admitted. “Probably the closest I’ve come is the archive.”

“How much do you know about the world around you, then?” Harry wondered, not unkindly. “There’s so much going on that you don’t even know, and that’s just in the manor.” He looked around at all the kitchen maids and cook bustling around them, pressing fond touches to their backs and shoulders as they worked. “They’re so happy to see you here. People just want to know that you care about then, especially if you’re going to be in charge of them one day.”

“Is that what you did with the guard?” Draco asked curiously.

“I must have, even if I didn’t know it then.”

Draco looked up at one of the old women, cutting meat for a stew and watching him happily, and tentatively smiled back. She absolutely beamed at him. “You would be a better noble than me,” he decided, and Harry’s ears went red. “Will you show me what I don’t know?”

“Sure, Draco,” Harry said, nudging him with his shoulder, and Draco resisted the urge to lean against him in return. “But we have to finish these peas first,” he added with a smirk.

Draco looked at their huge basket of peapods a groaned. Harry just laughed.

* * *

 

Harry had a feeling, deep in his gut, that something was going to happen tonight. Foiled once, Slytherin would be angry and attempt to strike again harder. He paused in the doorway to the sitting room as Draco went through to his bedchamber, followed by Seamus. He ran his hand over the smooth stones that made up the door frame and smirked.

He drew a hunting knife from his belt and cut his thumb. Concentrating, Harry traced the runes of a simple proximity ward on both sides of the door frame, down by the floor. It was a single-use ward, useless once it was tripped. The purpose wasn’t as a barrier but as a warning, since it would wake him from the deepest sleep if someone opened the door after he set it.

Thinking, he added one more rune set to expand the ward over the whole suit. With the modification, Harry only needed to mark any other entrances with his blood, and he would wake up if any of them were opened. Standing, he crossed to the window and smeared his blood on both sides of the widow casing. Cutting his other thumb, he went to Draco’s bedchamber to do the same to his window.

Draco must have exhausted himself during the day, because he was already asleep. Harry watched for a second as the young noble shifted his head on his pillow and made a little snuffling noise, then shook himself and continued with his task. Once all the widows were warded, he checked to make sure Seamus had gone for the night and set the ward.

Still vaguely uneasy, Harry slipped his hunting knife under his pillow before he fell asleep, one hand on the hilt.

Deep in the darkest part of the night Harry was suddenly wide awake, mind whirring with thoughts of alarm. He rolled out of bed and dropped into a fighting stance in the same movement, immediately looking for an opponent. He took a second to switch out the knife for his sword and find out where the ward had broken.

It was the window in Draco’s room. Harry swore and burst through the door between their rooms.

The man standing over Draco’s bed nearly dropped his wand in shock, incantation faltering on his lips. He was hooded and shrouded in a black cloak, but Harry didn’t care who he was. He only cared that this man could bleed, because he was about to kill him.

The hooded man turned his wand on Harry, and Harry was glad he always slept with his tucked in the waist of his breeches. He knocked aside the man’s spell, sending out his own bolt of magic and knocking the man into the wall behind him.

In the time it took Harry to round the bed, the hooded man had unsheathed a sword of his own, raising it to meet Harry’s strike in a practiced move. A gasp behind him told him Draco had woken up, but Harry ignored it.

Slashing out, the man forced Harry back to give him space to stand. Harry dropped back, readying his sword again, and the two launched at each other.

Harry lost himself in action and reaction of the fight, the thrust and parry and return. His eyes tracked his opponent’s weaknesses on instinct, looking for soft spots and movements to exploit. He didn’t know how long it was, a second or a few minutes or many hours more, before he found it.

He stepped around his opponent and the hooded man tried to follow, but his large cloak slowed his movements down. Snapping his arm down, Harry slammed the pommel of his own blade into the man’s hand, forcing him to drop his weapon. Grabbing the front of the black cloak with his other hand, Harry dragged the man down to his knees and ripped back the hood, pressing the edge of his sword into the man’s throat hard enough to draw blood.

“Macnair,” he growled, recognising Slytherin’s guard captain.

“In the flesh,” Macnair replied. “Potter, isn’t it? You’re good, I’ll give you that much.”

“If I had my way, your head would be rolling across the floor right now,” Harry spat. Macnair flinched, and a bead of blood rolled down the spine of the blade against his throat. Harry leaned in, lowering his voice to a deadly rumble. “But I wouldn’t give that Slytherin bastard the satisfaction of the scandal.”

Macnair opened his mouth to reply, but Harry raised his sword and slammed the pommel into the the older man’s temple, knocking him out cold. He hauled the man over his shoulder and carried him out into the hall. A sharp whistle brought the nearest pair of patrolling guardsmen to him at a jog.

“Take Captain Macnair into the Low Town and leave him in the alley behind a tavern,” he ordered, turning over man and weapon to one of the guardsmen. “If you value your positions, you’ll say nothing about this exchange,” he warned, and both guardsmen swallowed hard.

“Yes sir, Captain Potter.” They both hurried off, eyes wide.

Harry yawned, adrenaline fading, and went back to Draco’s suite. It was the work of minutes to re-ward the room, though he didn’t think there would be another attempt that night.

Stepping back into Draco’s room, he had to pull his sword away quickly as the blond launched at him and clung to him, shaking.

“Harry,” he nearly sobbed. Harry set his weapon aside to wrap an arm around his waist. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Draco,” he soothed. “He never even touched me.” He eased Draco onto the bed and shut the window, marking it with his blood again and setting the ward with a pulse of magic. He rifled through Draco’s things on a nearby table until he found the man’s belt knife.

“Here,” he tossed the knife to him, “keep that under your pillow every night until Slytherin leaves, alright?” Draco gripped the knife with white knuckles and shaking hands. “Draco, are you alright?”

“I-I…” Draco stuttered, wrapping his arms over his middle. “No,” he whispered. “Will you stay with me?”

“They won’t try anything else tonight, you’re safe for now…” Harry tried to calm him, only to trail off as Draco turned wide, scared silver eyes his way.

“Please, Harry?”

Harry raked a hand through his hair and sigh. “Yeah, alright. I’ll stay, just give me a second.” Draco nodded weakly and stowed away the belt knife, climbing under the covers.

Harry went back to his room to wipe Macnair’s blood off his sword and put it up. He traded out the hand-and-a-half captain’s sword for his old one-handed recruit’s blade, which was shorter and fit better under a pillow.

After tonight, there was no way he was sleeping with anything less than a short sword.

Draco was curled on his side when Harry came back. “I’m back,” he murmured as he lifted the covers, not wanting to startle him. He could feel the bed shaking gently with Draco’s tremors. “Go to sleep now, I’m here.”

“Harry, I’m scared,” Draco admitted in a whisper.

“I know,” Harry replied. He rested a hand hesitantly on Draco’s side, unsure of how the comforting gesture would be taken, but Draco just rolled toward him with a soft whimper, burying his face in Harry’s bare chest. Giving a resigned sigh, he wrapped his arms around Draco gently, holding him as his shaking slowed and he fell asleep.

He knew he would regret this in the morning. It was impossible to be aloof and professional wrapped up in bed. He shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as he was, either, but Draco’s lithe body felt so warm and comfortable curled around him.

* * *

 

“Draco.”

Someone was shaking him gently, but Draco didn’t want to wake up. He burrowed into the cosy warmth around him, grumbling. It smelled herbal and clean, and Draco recognised it after a moment as the crook of Harry’s neck.

“Draco,” Harry said insistently.

“Don’t want to,” Draco mumbled. He kissed the hollow of the throat beside him. Harry tensed and his breath caught.

“Get up,” he said tightly, pushing Draco away. He stood with his back to Draco, and Draco could see the tense muscles of his shoulders in the early morning sun. “I have to report to your father this morning. Someone will stay with you while I’m gone.”

“Alright,” Draco accepted softly, the good mood he’d had when he woke leaking away.

Harry’s head snapped toward the outer door suddenly. “Seamus is here,” he informed. He collected his sword from under the pillow Draco had shared with him during the night and went off to his room without once looking at Draco.

Draco pulled the covers over his head and ignored Seamus until the servant pulled them away.

“Captain Potter has gone to see Lord Malfoy, but he said to tell you he’s left two of his best guardsmen in the sitting room until he returns,” Seamus informed him.

Draco didn’t want to go out there and see two other guards. He wanted to see Harry, to have breakfast with Harry, to watch him eat with his peculiar hidden enjoyment of food or mornings or whatever it was that he so thoroughly enjoyed. He didn’t want to get dressed yet, he wanted to stay in bed all day, preferably with Harry beside him. It was only now that he really realised he had had the captain in his bed, arms around him, both of them stripped down to their breeches and pressed against each other. Draco groaned.

“I’ll take breakfast in here,” he decided. He turned to Seamus, who raised an eyebrow but started clearing off the table. “Where’s my morning robe?”

* * *

 

“Captain Potter to see you immediately, my Lord.”

Harry waited impatiently outside the hall doors as he was announced. Just his luck, he had to interrupt Lord Malfoy during a meeting with his advisors.

The door guardsman came out and ushered him in with a bow. Harry nodded back and stepped through.

Lord Malfoy sat at the head of the table, surrounded by silent advisors, and watched him coolly as Harry bow low with his fist over his heart. “Is this truly an urgent matter, Captain Potter?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry replied seriously.

“On what matter?” Malfoy asked, eyebrow cocked.

“On the matter of my assignment,” Harry said, trying to be as obtuse as possible, while get Malfoy to understand.

Evidently he did, since he dismissed the advisors. Wooden chairs scraped across stone as they left. Malfoy stood as well, coming around the table. “What happened to Draco?”

Harry could see the panic barely hidden in his eyes. “Lord Slytherin’s Captain Macnair broke in through Draco’s window and attempted to curse him while he slept.” The panic got worse, and Harry rushed to calm his Lord. “He never got far enough into the curse to cause any damage. I warded the suite before I retired, and the ward woke me as soon as Macnair opened the window.”

Malfoy relaxed visibly. “I take it you were able to…apprehend him.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Excellent,” he nodded. “What did you do with him?”

Harry let a small, feral smirk break through his blank mask. “Captain Macnair had an unfortunate interaction between his temple and the pommel of my sword and will no doubt be confused when he wakes up behind a Low Town tavern.”

“Good, good!” Malfoy chuckled. “At least you didn’t kill him. Slytherin would be after my hide for that.”

“His other option was beheaded and eviscerated,” Harry growled, and Wood flinched, standing in the shadows at the back of the room. Even Malfoy leaned back, a little surprised. He smirked faintly.

“It’s good to see my choice venerated,” he murmured. “You’ve grown quite protective of Draco.” Harry flushed but kept still. “If that is all?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Very well, dismissed.” Harry bowed again. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to Draco,” he added, and Harry could feel his face going even redder. Malfoy’s chuckles followed him out of the hall.

Harry pressed his burning face against the cool stone wall as soon as he was out of sight of the door guardsmen. Magic save him, how far gone was he if Lord Malfoy could see it? An image flashed in his mind of waking up that morning, Draco pressed skin-to-skin against him, and he groaned, pushing his forehead harder into the unyielding stone.

Sighing, he continued on his way back to Draco’s suite. Coming around a corner, he saw Lord Slytherin coming toward him. Stepping off to the side, he greeted the Lord with a shallow bow, keeping his hands by his sides. “Lord Slytherin, good morning.”

“Ah, Captain Potter,” Slytherin replied smoothly. Harry’s eyes went wide before he schooled his expression. “Did you really think I would be fooled by your little ploy, Captain?” he smirked.

Harry debated trying for innocent, but innocence and utter hatred didn’t work very well together. “I had hoped, your Lordship,” he replied, going for full honesty instead. Slytherin sneered as he met his eyes. He fought the urge to recoil at the unnatural blood-red colour.

“What are you trying to accomplish, going against me?” Slytherin asked, crimson eyes narrowed.

“My task is to protect my Lord’s heir, with my life if necessary. If you try for Draco again, I will end my task by killing you,” Harry said coldly, stepping closer. “I will soak my hands in your bastard blood, and there is nothing on this earth that can stop me.”

Slytherin slammed him against the wall, long fingers wrapping around his throat. He leaned in, nose almost touching Harry’s, and bared his teeth. “You don’t have the strength or power to even scratch me,” he growled. He raised his free hand, stroking one skeletal fingertip across Harry’s cheek. “Interesting that you, of all people, would call me bastard. You, the bastard son of James Potter. An orphan, and a former slave, to boot.”

“How do you know that?” Harry snarled, keeping Slytherin’s attention on his eyes as he fumbled with his belt knife.

“I know you, Harry Potter,” the Lord crooned, “because you’re me. Don’t fight against me, join me. Fight for me, and I will give you what you so desperately need.” A coldly seductive smile curled on his face. “Legitimacy,” he whispered.

Finally freeing his knife, he brought it up and pressed it under Slytherin’s chin. “You know nothing about me,” he spat. “I don’t need legitimacy. I’m proud of who I am, bastard and the rest, which is more than you can say.” Slytherin’s fingers tightened on his throat, almost cutting off his air, and he pressed the blade in harder in response. “Stalemate, your Lordship.”

They glared at each other for a moment that seemed like an eternity. With a last squeeze, Slytherin let go and stepped back. Harry dropped his arm, sheathing his knife, and gave a shallow bow. “Good day, your Lordship.”

The guardsmen he’d left in Draco’s private sitting room stared at his neck as he came in, and he knew Slytherin’s fingers had left long bruises there. “Dismissed,” he snapped, and they fell over themselves in a rush to leave. He found Draco lounging on his bed in a morning robe, picking at his breakfast as he listened to Seamus chattering as he scrubbed the floor. “Out,” he ordered coldly.

Seamus dropped his scrub brush in the bucket and ran.

Harry snatched Draco’s half-empty plate away from him, dropping it with a loud rattle on the table. “Harry!” Draco cried indignantly, sitting up. “I was still eating tha-“ he froze, catching sight of the bruises. “What happened to you?”

“A conversation,” he answered shortly. “Get up, we’re leaving.”


	3. Chapter 3

Draco stared as Harry ripped open his wardrobe, rifling through the clothes. He had never seen the captain so cold and angry. It couldn’t have been a conversation with his father, his father would never resort to physical violence.

Lord Slytherin, then? If he had threatened Draco again, it would be like Harry to automatically defend him, however reckless the action might be.

“Where are we going?” he asked, drawing his robe tighter around himself instinctively to protect himself from Harry’s barely-controlled rage. He could see the captain shaking with it.

“The outer village,” Harry answered. “There’s a patrol that rides out soon, we’ll go with them.”

“Why?” Draco ventured hesitantly.

“I’m getting you out of the manor,” Harry said flatly. “We’re staying with Sirius until Slytherin leaves.” He finally stopped tearing through Draco’s clothes and sighed. “Do you have anything that doesn’t scream ‘noble’?”

“Why would I?” Draco said, worried but still curious.

“Fine. You can wear mine, then.” He crooked a finger, and Draco followed him through to his room. “Put these on,” he ordered, tossing a bundle of clothes over.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the garments, but he knew better than to argue with Harry. He pulled on brown trousers and thick stockings with a hole in the toe and a red shirt, all made of wool and worn thin in spots with wear and age. Harry was broader and more muscular than he was, so the trousers were baggy and the shirt loose on his shoulders.

He jumped when Harry reached around his waist, cinching tight an old leather belt to hold up the trousers and fixing Draco’s knife to it. He wrapped a grey cloak over the blond’s shoulders, as worn as the clothes and shorter than his captain’s cloak or any of Draco’s riding cloaks.

“Disguise?” Draco asked, feeling the clothes. The trousers were a heavy, work-grade material, but the shirt was light and breathable, even if it was made of cheaper wool instead of linen.

“Of course,” Harry replied, pulling out a pair of old boots. “It won’t fool Slytherin, but it makes me feel better.” He sat Draco down on the bed with a shove and knelt, putting on the boots himself. It was something no one but a servant would do, but Harry did it without thinking.

To be fair, Draco wasn’t thinking much about it either. He was more focused on Harry on his knees and between his legs. Green eyes caught his as Harry looked up, and Draco blushed brightly.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his own cheeks faintly pink. “I, uh, I’ll send a note to your father explaining everything.”

Draco watched as he wrote out a quick explanation and sealed it. “Use my seal,” he offered passing over his signet ring, worn by generations of Malfoy heirs. “That way he doesn’t think you’ve abducted me. Or we’ve eloped.” He smirked when Harry’s ears went red, but the captain said nothing as he stepped out to send his guardsmen off with the note. Without guardsmen at the door, Draco’s suite would look like they’d already left.

“You don’t look very disguised,” Draco noted, eyeing the captain’s cloak flowing behind Harry.

“Not yet,” Harry grinned. “Just wait.” He took off his hand-and-a-half sword, made of high quality steel and marked with small decorative touches, and changed it out for his old recruit’s sword. He took off the cloak and wrapped the larger weapon in it, stowing the bundle away at the bottom of a canvas rucksack. Over his head he pulled a mail coif. “There,” he said, popping his helmet under his arm, “standard guardsman.”

“Impressive,” Draco drawled sarcastically. Harry snorted. “Was your conversation with Slytherin, by any chance?”

Harry stilled, rucksack hanging from his hands. “Yeah,” he sighed. “He knows exactly who I am, though I don’t know how.”

“And how did you get those marks?” Draco continued.

“I may have given him factual information about what would happen if he tried to hurt you again, and he may have taken it as a threat.”

“What, that he would fail if he tried?” Draco smirked as he fiddled with bottom of Harry’s mail hood, getting the coif to lay flat.

“Try killing him and bathing in his blood,” Harry shot back. “I would hunt him down, and nothing short of my own death would keep me from killing him.” He looked at Draco so protectively, and Draco dragged him into a hard kiss, groaning.

Harry kissed back for a moment, nipping and biting, and his hand curled around the back of Draco’s neck. Then he shoved him away, dropping his hand like it was burnt. “Don’t,” he pleaded, snatching up the rucksack and stuffing a bedroll inside. “Please.”

Draco looked away, hurt and ashamed.

* * *

 

Harry swung his leg over Prongs’ back, pulling himself up on the horse’s back. He handed Draco the rucksack, pulling the strap over his shoulder. He offered a hand, and Draco just looked at it.

“Don’t be stupid, your horse is too recognizable,” he said. “Get up here.”

Scowling, Draco took the hand and pulled himself up behind him. “I’ve never ridden tandem,” he muttered.

“I’m not going to let you fall off,” Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes. He reached back, tugging the hood of the borrowed cloak over Draco’s signature white-blond hair and wrapping his arms tightly around his own middle.

Marcus Flint watched him warily as they joined the patrol. “Take point, Flint,” he ordered, putting on his great helm like the rest of the guard. “I’m trying not to look like the captain.”

Flint nodded sharply and wheeled his mount around, letting out a sharp whistle. The rest of the patrol, three younger guardsmen low enough in the ranks to pull day patrol through the outer village, fell into formation. Harry spurred Prongs into line beside the guardsman at the back. They took off through the gate at a gallop and Draco nearly snapped him in half with how tight he held on.

Harry took a deep breath as the noble relaxed again. It was going to be a long ride to Sirius’ place.

The reached it just after noon, peeling away from the patrol with a sharp salute from Flint. Slowing Prongs from a trot to a gentle walk, they approached a small whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof. It lay between a thriving garden and a small animal pen holding five pigs and a little henhouse. Sirius’ old war horse, a stallion named Padfoot that was past his prime, grazed in a paddock behind the house with a milk cow.

“This is Black’s house?” Draco asked in his ear, chin over his shoulder. Harry nodded, bringing Prongs to a stop and dismounting. He helped Draco down and tied the horse to the fence of the animal pen.

“Who’s there?” Sirius demanded, coming out of the house, sword in hand. He glanced at Draco, then at the horse, recognising Prongs. “Harry?”

“Hey Sirius,” Harry greeted, pulling his helm off. “We need a place to stay for a while. Quietly.”

“Of course,” Sirius grinned. “Who’s your friend?” Draco lowered his hood. Sirius stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Oh, magic help me! Feel like roughing it, my Lord?”

Draco scowled and opened his mouth, but Harry spoke first. “Malfoy assigned me to protect him. Period, no stipulations. He’s my charge as long as Slytherin is here.”

Sirius’ face went solemn and he nodded, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Stay, then.” He glanced at Draco again. “I’ve only got a pallet to spare. You’ll have to take the floor, Harry.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” Harry grinned. “As long as you have enough food…” he trailed off suggestively, giving his old captain wide eyes.

“Yeah, I remember your appetite,” Sirius grumbled jokingly. “I’ve got food aplenty, don’t you worry.” He led the way into the house. “It isn’t quite manor fare, my Lord, but it’s filling. Better than Fletcher’s, anyway.”

“Don’t remind me,” Harry grunted, sick at the thought of the Low Town inn. “Bad thief, even worse cook. His food was more of a crime than his stealing.”

“He should have fed his victims first, then picked their pockets once they died,” Sirius agreed. “I’d like to shake the hand of whoever pelted him with his own meat pies when he was in the stocks.” Harry stuck out his own hand with an impish grin and Sirius laughed. “That was you?” He took Harry’s hand and pulled him into a hug, shaking with laughter.

He showed them into a small kitchen that was mostly hearth, with a square table and two stools. Harry waved Sirius and Draco toward the stools, taking up a position leaning against the wall. Sirius ladled out some stewed pork into his only two bowls and cut thick slices of hearty bread. He offered one bowl to each of his guests, but Harry shook his head.

“I don’t need anything special, Sirius,” he smiled. Harry smeared his bread with soft cheese and piled stewed pork on top of it, making sure to drain off as much liquid as he could first. Draco watched him with curiosity and some hidden warmth that Harry couldn’t fathom in his eyes. “Eat, Draco. It won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Draco took a wary bite, hesitant at first, then chewing with vigour. “This is good!” he exclaimed, and Harry chuckled. Sirius bowed from across the table. Draco ate heartily as Harry and Sirius chatted, comparing experiences as captain of the guard, mopping up the last of the broth and bits of pork with the crust of his bread like Sirius did.

“Finished?” Harry asked. Draco nodded. “Good. Come with me, we have work to do.”

“Work?” Draco hurried after him, followed by Sirius’ laughter. “What do you mean, work?”

* * *

 

Draco stared at the sword in his hand, Harry’s own single-handed sword.

“Recruits take two months to work up to a real blade,” Harry was saying, “but we don’t have that kind of time. So I’ll show you the steps, and you copy me, alright?”

He proceeded to put Draco through a few punishing hours of repetitive moments. He would teach Draco one manoeuver, going slowly and stopping to adjust his grip and stance, then have him do it again and again, faster each time, until he was satisfied.

Sweat poured down Draco’s face and made his shirt cling to his skin, and his arms and shoulders burned from holding the heavy sword out for hours. He was sure he would hear Harry sharp voice ordering “Again!” invading his dreams that night.

“Take a break,” Harry said at last, catching the sword as Draco nearly dropped it. Draco collapsed on the ground, chest heaving, and Harry laughed.

“Not tired, are you, my Lord?” Black called, wandering over with a bucket of well water. He knelt and wiped Draco’s face and neck with a wet cloth while Draco gulped down the cool water. “You’re a hard taskmaster, Captain Potter!”

“I learned from the best, Captain Black!” Harry laughed, swinging his longer blade with ease. Draco watch, entranced, as Harry flowed through the same steps Draco had struggled with, all effortless grace.

Black watched with a fond smile, then snatched up Draco’s sword and leapt in with a cry, blocking Harry’s high strike. “I challenge you!” He took up a ready stance, tucking his handless arm behind his back.

“Prepare for defeat, old man,” Harry grinned wickedly. He copied Black’s stance, twirling his sword elegantly by his side before he brought it up. They stared at each other for a moment, hardly breathing, then both launched into movement at the same time, obeying a signal Draco couldn’t see.

He propped himself up on his elbows to watch. Harry and Black danced around each other, blades ringing as they clashed. Black seemed to favour sweeping slashes, very showy, and fought with a technique that must have been honed by his decades in the Malfoy guard. Harry preferred quick thrusts followed by sharp upward cuts that Draco imagined would gut opponents. He used his longer reach to evade Black.

He caught Black’s sword over their heads, locking up, and raised a foot to kick Black in the chest. Amputated arm wheeling, Black went down on his back, sword falling from his hand. Harry pressed the same foot down on his sword hand, tip of his own blade under Black’s chin. “Yield.”

“I yield,” Black grunted, and Harry gave him a hand up.

“You’re out of practice, Siri,” he teased, then ducked as Black aimed a slap at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well,” Black sighed, “not much call for sword play in farming.” He looked up at the sun creeping toward the western horizon. “Clean up, I’ll make supper.”

Harry nodded, shedding gloves and vambraces and stripping off tunic, hauberk and shirt. He picked up the bucket of well water beside Draco and poured it over his head, rubbing himself down with the cloth. Draco shivered just watching him. The heat he’d worked up during his training had long since faded away, leeched by the cool early winter air. With the sun going down, it was only getting colder.

“You need to get up and move around,” Harry told him, nudging him with a booted toe. “Keep your muscles moving, or they’ll be all locked up come morning.”

“I like watching you fight,” he mumbled tiredly, raising his hands. Harry helped him up.

* * *

 

Harry looked over the small room Sirius had given them. It was a storage room, full of sacks of seed and grain, piled up to make room for the pallet on the floor. He rolled up Draco’s borrowed cloak to make a pillow for him.

“It isn’t much, and it won’t be very warm,” he warned the noble. “I’m sorry.”

Draco squeezed his shoulder. “I think I can rough it for a few days.”

Looking away studiously as Draco undressed, Harry laid out the bedroll by the door. He stripped off everything but his shirt and his breeches. He used his captain’s cloak as a blanket, but he knew the thin, summer weight wool wouldn’t keep him very warm.

“You’re right,” Draco sighed into the dark some time later. “This isn’t warm at all.” Harry could hear the tiny tremors in his voice from his shivering.

“Sorry,” he apologised again.

“You’re just trying to keep me safe,” Draco replied. “I know how you can make it up to me, though.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked, rolling over to face Draco’s corner. The sound of shifting fabric told him Draco had shifted too.

“You can come over here and keep me warm,” the noble offered, almost coyly.

Harry opened his mouth to refuse, very aware of the mixed signals he must be sending Draco, when another wave of shivers racked his body. He sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Get up for a second.”

Lighting his wand so they could see, Harry pulled the blankets off the pallet. He laid the lightly cushioned bedroll over the wood and rearranged the rolled up cloak. He laid down on the side nearest the door, sword on the floor beside him, and tugged Draco down on the other side. Draco curled into his side, sliding cold fingers under the hem of his shirt and making him jump. He pulled the blankets back over them with his blue cloak on top.

“Much better,” Draco murmured, pressing his face into Harry’s shoulder.

“Don’t think anything of this,” Harry warned. “You’re cold, I’m cold, and I owe you for taking this whole thing so well.”

“Of course,” Draco mumbled, pressing his lips against the crook of Harry’s neck.

“Stop that.” Draco just hummed sleepily, already slipping away. Harry gave up and pulled Draco’s warm, relaxed body halfway on top of his, feeling his fine blond hair tickle his cheek. Putting out his wand light, he closed his eyes.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” a familiar voice sing-songed, breaking through Harry’s dreams. Harry hummed and turned his head away, encountering a soft warmth. Running his fingers through it, he discovered it was silky fine hair. “I didn’t know it was like _that_ , Harry.”

“Shut up,” Harry grumbled, yawning. “Dawn?”

“Course,” Sirius grinned. “There’s fresh bread, if you and my Lord could unstick yourselves and come eat.”

“Go ‘way,” Draco mumbled, pulling the covers over his head. “Sleeping.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Sirius bowed mockingly, laughter dancing in his eyes. Harry threw a boot at him as he left.

“Draco needs to be back before Slytherin leaves,” Harry said over breakfast. “It’ll be suspicious if he isn’t.”

“Stay as long as you need,” Sirius told him through a mouth full of bread. Harry smiled thankfully.

“Just three more days. Then we’ll be out of your way.”

* * *

 

Draco slurped down one dipper full of water from the well and poured a second over his head, sweating from the practice Harry had put him to. The captain was working with Black in the garden, leaving Draco to repeat his parries on his own. He could hear their conversation, though they were out of sight around the corner of the little house.

“Not tired, are you, Harry?” Black teased. “In a hurry to get back to bed?”

“Don’t know why you would think that,” Harry shot back.

Black laughed. “I don’t blame you, you know. I would be too if I had a pretty little nobleman wrapped around me at night.”

Draco froze. _Pretty little nobleman?_ He wasn’t sure if he was flattered or insulted.

“It isn’t like that,” Harry objected, and Draco could picture the blush on his face, creeping toward his ears and down the back of his neck.

“Then what is it like?” Black asked, curiosity evident in his voice. “Because it looks to me like you two are pretty damn close. Are you lovers?”

“No!” Harry cried, making Draco jump. He dropped the dipper into the well bucket with a splash, but Harry talked over the noise. “We aren’t…” He sighed heavily. “Draco wants to. That’s two nights now we’ve shared a bed. He knows just how to ask so I can’t refuse.”

“You’re a better man than I am if you can refuse _that_ ,” Black laughed. “Oh, no. No, Harry, you didn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry denied in a voice that fooled no one.

“Don’t lie to me, Harry Potter,” Black scolded. “I’m the man who pulled a scared five-year-old out from behind a sword rack, remember? I know you better than that. You are _gone_ over this boy.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about it?” Harry demanded. There was a soft thunk; Harry had thrown down whatever tool he was holding. “I know he wants me, but I don’t know how much. Does he even know how much?” He groaned, and his voice came out muffled, like he was covering his face. “I think I love him, Siri.”

“What’s stopping you, then?”

Harry laughed without humour. “You’re kidding.” Black said nothing. “There’s no future for us! He’s the next Lord Malfoy of Wiltshire, and I’m practically his property.” There was the thud of a tool being buried in the dirt. “I swore my life, my sword, and my magic to the Malfoy line through his father. Malfoy owns me.”

“No one owns you, Harry,” Black said seriously.

Harry scoffed. “I think you know what’s on my back.”

“Yes, I know what’s on your back,” Black agreed. “I put the crest there myself when you were three. You were so strong, you didn’t even cry.” Draco choked at hearing about the slave’s mark and how young Harry had been. “And I know your _licens_ , too, because I put that there myself. No one owns you anymore.”

“It can’t work between us,” Harry insisted, and Draco’s heart twisted. “Just leave it, Sirius.”

Draco picked up his borrowed sword and went back to his parries, distracted.

Harry hesitated when they went to bed that night, but Draco tugged him over to the pallet with him. He waited until Harry cast a cleaning charm on his guard tunic, then stole it, sliding it over his own head. “It’s cold,” he explained shortly when Harry gave him a questioning look. Harry shrugged and finished undressing, leaving on his shirt and breeches. He pulled the covers over them and Draco cuddled into his side immediately, finally knowing why the captain hesitate before resting his own arms around Draco’s waist.

Harry fell asleep almost instantly, and Draco wondered if that came from his training in the guard. His tunic smelled like him, fresh and faintly herbal, and Draco wanted to spend the rest of his life wrapped up in Harry’s strong arms and surrounded by that scent. If Harry was falling in love with him, however reluctantly, Draco was falling with him.

Now he just needed to get Harry to see that.

* * *

 

“I took this kid on his first trip to the tavern, my Lord.” Sirius clapped Harry hard on the shoulder, barely avoiding stabbing him with his fork. “What were you, sixteen? Fifteen? Anyway, Podmore and I kept pouring ale down his throat and he passed out by midnight, so we just left him in the stables and went to Madam Vane’s house of business, down in Low Town-“

Harry sat up sharply and clapped a hand over Sirius’ mouth. Draco jumped, and Sirius glared and tried to bite him. “Shut up!” he hissed. “Listen.”

Sirius cocked his head toward the door, closing his eyes and holding his breath just like Harry was doing. “Horses, at a gallop. Three?”

“Four,” Harry corrected. “Might be mine, but not likely. Patrols don’t go through that fast, and messengers ride in pairs.”

“Slytherin’s?” Sirius asked sharply, standing. His ramrod posture was instinctive, full of the kind of authority Harry hoped he portrayed as captain.

“Who else?” Harry snatched up his short sword from the bench Draco had left it on after his training and tossed it to him. He fetched his own captain’s blade and returned to the kitchen to see Sirius holding a similar weapon. “I haven’t seen that blade in a while,” he commented.

“I’ve gotten a bit attached to it in my time,” Sirius replied lightly. He glanced over at Draco, pale with fear behind them. “You think he’ll be able to defend himself?”

Harry looked back with a frown. “No.” He pulled off three layers at once, having taken off his vambraces to help Sirius in his garden. Peeling off the navy guard tunic, he handed the shirt and mail hauberk to Draco. “Put those on. Fast.” Draco fumbled in his hast to obey. His shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of the mail, which hung loosely on his lean frame.

“Right then,” Sirius said. Sword in his armpit, he wrapped his one hand around the back of Harry’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. “Into battle, Captain Potter.”

“Into battle.” He turned to Draco. “Stay back and don’t try anything heroic, no matter what happens. Your priority is to stay alive and unharmed, whatever it takes. If you have to run, do it. Understand?” Draco was grey by now, but he nodded shakily, settling into his stance by the door of the house.

Wand in his left hand, sword in his right, Harry strode forward to face the edge of the forest and waited. The pounding hoofbeats grew closer, and Harry counted twenty-three breaths before they came into sight; four mounted guardsmen in basic armour, dressed in the solid black of Slytherin’s guard.

The lead man pulled his horse to a hard stop just in front of Harry and took off his helm. “Captain Potter,” he greeted.

“Captain Macnair,” Harry replied. “Finally figured out you don’t have a chance against me alone?” Macnair snarled at him, and Harry grinned darkly. “That beheading offer still stands.”

“Fond of your little boytoy, aren’t you?” Macnair’s gazed flicked over to Draco and back. “Pretty young thing, isn’t he?”

Harry growled deep in his chest. “Are you coming down here, or shall I kill the horses too? Seems like a waste of such fine animals.”

“Honourable combat doesn’t interest me, Potter,” Macnair dismissed, donning his helm again. “We’ll stay mounted, if you don’t mind. Blondie back there is the only one I need dead, so feel free to run if you don’t want an unfair fight.”

As he reached for his sword, Harry closed his eyes and cast a flashbang spell, spooking all four horses. They all reared and bucked, three of them tossing their riders. The fourth was tangled in his reins and had to cut himself free as his horse ran for the woods.

“I do hate killing good horses,” Harry remarked as he blasted the dragged guardsmen into a tree as he stood. The magic left a scorch mark on his chest, and he didn’t rise again.

Macnair stood back, but the other two rushed to engage Harry and Sirius. Harry met his opponent head on and saw Sirius fall back out of the corner of his eye, circling to make up for his missing hand.

Whenever Harry fought, his thoughts settled and his mind went blank, leaving only instinct and muscle memory. His opponent tried to force him back, tried to get around him, but Harry always stayed between the man and Draco, even at the risk of a few scratches. Finding the space and focus he needed, he cast one of Severus’ curses, a spell that created deep knife-like wounds. He found the soft spots where the man’s hauberk and gauntlets left a gap and severed the tendons in his elbows. The man dropped his sword with a grunt, and Harry knocked him to his knees with a kick. He ripped off his helm and coif and parted his head and body with one clean stroke.

Panting, he wiped the spray of blood out of his eyes and looked for Macnair. A cry from behind him had him whirling, fear shooting through his chest.

Macnair had taken advantage of their distraction to reach Draco. He had disarmed the blond and had him flat on his back, sword point to his throat.

Harry ran.

* * *

 

Draco whimpered, shaking as Macnair’s dark gaze met his, a bloodthirsty smile on his face. His arm tingled from the strike that had disarmed him, and the tip of Macnair’s sword was like ice on his throat.

“No handsome captain to save you now, is there?” Macnair taunted, drawing to point down his neck to the hollow of his throat and pressing lightly. “Such a shame. Goodbye, pretty bo-“

He broke off his a cry, weapon falling from his hand. Harry appeared behind him, drawing his sword deeply across Macnair’s elbow. He did the same to the back of his knees and the man fell.

“I’d tell you to give a message to your Lord,” Harry said coldly, pulling off helmet and mail hood to grip his hair tightly, “but you won’t be making it back to him.”

“What happened to that political scandal you were so afraid of?” Macnair smirked, and Harry backhanded him, pulling him closer by his hair.

“You tried to hurt what’s mine,” he said lowly, an inhuman expression on his face. “Scandal or not, I’m going to kill you now.”

Vaguely, Draco noticed Black stabbing his opponent through the stomach and leaving him on the ground to come up behind Harry, but his eyes were glued to the captain and the man at his mercy.

Harry leaned Macnair back, hands at his sides at exposed. He plunged his sword in at his navel and pulled up, unseaming him. The man gave a choked cry, trying to hold his entrails inside with arms that flopped loosely on cut ligaments.

Harry threw him forward and took of his head.

“Harry,” Black called gently, as though speaking to a skittish horse. Harry tensed, then relaxed when he registered who was speaking. Avoiding Black’s and Draco’s eyes, he stuck his sword into the hard dirt and stalked toward Black’s defeated opponent, drawing his belt knife. They watched silently as Harry rolled him over with his boot, pulled off his helm and checked for a pulse. He cut the man’s throat quickly and efficiently, a spray of blood splattering across his face and chest, and repeated the process with the man slumped against the tree.

He wiped his knife off on his trousers and dropped to his knees beside Draco.

“Are you alri-“ Draco was cut off as Harry pulled him into a hard, desperate kiss. Draco moaned softly and ran a hand through his wild hair, uncaring of the blood caking in it. Harry bit his lip, drawing him closer with a tight grip on his shirt.

Draco tilted his head and tried to deepen the kiss, and Harry pulled back. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, scrambling to his feet and looking away. “Sirius, take what’s good and leave the bodies. I’ll take care of them.” He yanked his sword out of the ground and walked stiffly toward the house. “Excuse me.”

Draco stared at the smeared blood on his hand, breathing hard. Black turned toward Macnair’s body as Harry slammed the door behind him. “I’ve only seen Harry kill once before,” he said quietly, nudging Macnair’s head with his toe. “That was when I lost my hand. He gets brutal when he’s protective.” He gave Draco a hard look. “That man loves you with everything he has, magic knows why. Don’t you dare toy with him, Draco Malfoy.”

“Never.” Draco met Black’s gaze steadily. “I love him, too.”

Black regarded him for a moment longer, then nodded sharply and turned back to Macnair’s body. “I hope you aren’t squeamish, my Lord.”

* * *

 

Harry clamped down on the urge to wince as he urged Sirius’ horse, Padfoot, faster, knowing Prongs would follow with Draco. He let out a sharp whistle as they approached the manor gates and his guardsmen hurried to open them, no doubt recognising his cloak. They clattered to a stop in the yard and Harry ushered Draco inside.

“Harry!” Severus stopped dead in the corridor, a look of complete shock on his face. Harry figured he must make quite the sight with his torn, blood-stained tunic and the yellowing bruises around his throat, escorting Draco Malfoy in a borrowed mix of peasant’s clothing and Harry’s armaments.

“Severus,” Harry grunted. “Where is my Lord Malfoy?”

“Lord Malfoy is taking midday in his rooms, I believe,” Severus replied warily, clearly biting back questions. “Come.” He spun on a heel and led the way. Harry followed, half a step behind Draco.

The door guardsmen at Malfoy’s suite fell back immediately on seeing Harry, bowing them through. Malfoy jack-knifed to his feet as they entered, falling silent in the middle of conversation with his wife. “What is meaning of this?” he demanded.

Harry dropped to one knee, head bowed and fist over his heart. He offered up a sword and sheath taken from a man’s body. “Captain Macnair is dead, my Lord.”

Malfoy took the spoils, turning it over in his hands. “Beheaded and eviscerated?” he asked in and indecipherable tone.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Stand, captain.” Clenching his jaw, Harry moved. “Tell me what…” he trailed of as Harry stumbled, clutching his side. “Again, Harry?” he sighed. “You never have known when to stop.”

“I’m fine, my Lord,” Harry snapped. He wobbled again, and Malfoy caught his free arm.

“No you aren’t,” he countered, handing him off and turning to Severus. “Take him in to the sofa.”

Harry gave up, slumping against whoever’s hard body was supporting him. A pale hand rested on his hip and he realised it was Draco. “Sirius will be mad,” he muttered, fuzzy with blood loss. Draco’s chest bounced as he laughed faintly, and he grinned, vision going dark as he was lowered to the sofa.

Harry woke up in his room in Draco’s suite, disoriented. Severus sat stiffly by his head, while Draco paced in the background. “Are you finally awake, Harry?” Severus asked, and Draco stopped pacing to watch intently.

“Yeah,” Harry croaked.

“Any pain, headache, dizziness, nausea, memory loss, blind spots, or deafness?”

“Er, no,” he frowned.

“Good.” Severus leaned forward. “Then I can do this.”

He raised a hand and slapped Harry hard across the face. “What were you thinking, you dunderhead? Riding over sixty miles at a full gallop, idiot boy! Any more damage and you could have brought your entrails in the saddlebags!” He yanked up Harry’s shirt to show him the scar across his side. “Fat lot of good your protection runes did. The wound ran right through them!”

“Sev, you know I don’t realise those things in combat…”

“Well you better start realising them, Harry Potter!” he cried. Harry took his hand and the physician calmed, taking a deep breath. “Draco told us all what happened, but I just want to know one thing.” He squeezed Harry’s hand. “Was his death worth it?”

Harry looked up, locking eyes with Draco. “It was.”

“Good.” He sat back and withdrew his hand, folding it in his lap. “Lucius threw Slytherin and his…companions out of the manor. He personally spoke to Flint and Wood and ordered a step-up in patrols, in case Slytherin takes revenge, but that’s unlikely with four of his guard dead at your hands, including the captain.”

“Right,” Harry nodded. He propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the ache in his side. “I’ll just get packed, then.”

“No you won’t.” Severus pushed him back down and stood. “You’re on bed rest right now. If you heal quickly, maybe I’ll let you leave tomorrow, but don’t push it.” With that, he swept from the room, dark robes swirling behind him.

Draco sat at the foot of the bed, pulling Harry’s feet into his lap. He shucked Harry’s boots and peeled off his stockings. “So your assignment to me is over,” he said, and Harry hummed. “You know, Severus never said _which_ bed you have to stay in.”

“Get to the point, Draco.”

Draco took a deep breath. “I heard you talking to Black, that day he woke us up.” His thumb stroked softly over Harry’s ankle. “You’re wrong, you know. There can be a future for us. My father’s known you almost your whole life-“

“Your father’s _owned_ me for almost my whole life,” Harry broke in. “It’s a _little_ different. Maybe if my father had acknowledged me, maybe if I had never been sold, maybe then we might have a chance.”

“What says we don’t have a chance now?” Draco demanded, rising to his feet.

Harry yanked his shirt over his head, turning around and bowing his shoulders to display the slave’s mark between his shoulder blades. “ _This_ says.” Draco’s warm, dry fingertips traced over the grey, slightly fuzzy lines of his family crest. “Do you know why a slave is always tattooed?” Draco’s fingers trembled on his skin. “Because it’s permanent. It never goes away. It means that, wherever I go, even as a free man, I will always be barely more than property. Slaves who are _licens_ don’t keep shops or tenant land. I’m worthless outside Wiltshire, because I’ll always carry marks of servitude to your family.”

“’Marks’?” Draco caught. “More than just this?”

Harry turned back around and eased the waistband of his trousers and breeches over his left him, exposing a pair of sword-shaped brands. Draco’s hand hovered over them, afraid to touch the scars. “Mark of the guard. Everyone is branded after they take their oaths.”

“Branded?!”

“Yeah. Hurts like nothing you can imagine and smells like roast pork,” Harry grinned, but Draco just stared at him incredulously.

“This one is new,” he murmured, tracing the outline of the larger sword in the air above it. The old brand was a basic short sword, but the new one was a stylised version of his captain’s sword, about half as large again as the first mark.

“I became captain,” Harry shrugged. “I got my _licens_ and that brand at the same time.”

Draco buried his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I love you, Harry.” Harry froze.

“Draco, no,” he tried to pull Draco off, but the blond swung a leg over and straddled him, holding him there.

“You said you didn’t know how I feel about you,” Draco said, cupping his face between his hands. “Well, I love you. Now you know. You asked me what I wanted from you, back when I hadn’t figured it out yet. I want you, next to me, for the rest of our lives. I want there to be a future for us.”

“Don’t do this, Draco,” Harry pleaded, pushing the noble off his lap insistently. “Don’t do this to me. Love or not, there’s no way your family would ever approve a relationship between us. Your father will find you a nice nobleman to marry, and I’ll swear my life and sword to you until I die or you see fit to relieve me from duty. That’s what’s going to happen, and nothing you or I can do will change it, alright. Just…stop this.”

“Give me something, Harry,” Draco begged. “I know how you feel about me, and I know how you feel. Stay with me tonight, just one more time, and give me something to hold onto.”

Harry closed his eyes, leaning forward and resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. “Alright.”

* * *

 

Draco ushered Harry into his room ahead of him, watching the captain’s careful steps. He sat the man down on the edge of the mattress and eased his trousers off. Harry did the same for his boots and stockings, still the same he had borrowed from Harry, as he dealt with his own belt. He was still wearing Harry’s shirt and hauberk, and Harry ran a hand down his mail-covered chest as he took off his tunic.

“This is huge on you,” he chuckled. He tugged on the shoulder seams, laying nearly at his elbows.

“We haven’t all trained since we were five, you know,” Draco scowled, but there wasn’t any heat in it. Harry just laughed again and pushed it over his head before tugging him down beside him. “I can’t do much, or Severus will have me impaled in the yard,” he murmured, nuzzling into Draco’s hair, “but I’ll stay. Tonight.”

Draco manoeuvred them into lying down, and Harry laid an arm across his waist, kissing him. It was soft and gentle, not like any of the hard, desperate kisses they’d shared before. Draco shivered as Harry stroked rough fingertips down his spine and pulled him closer. His tongue begged entrance to Draco’s mouth, stroking sensually over his own, and he rolled them, kneeling on either side of Draco’s hips.

Draco arched as Harry trailed slow kisses down his neck, those rough fingers playing across his ribs and stomach. He reached up to tangle one hand in wild black locks and pulled Harry’s mouth back to meet his. He put his other arm across Harry’s back, trying to pull the captain’s hips down into contact with his own.

“Ow.” Harry broke off with a grunt. He rested their foreheads together, panting slightly. “No, that’s not happening.”

“Does it hurt?”

Harry rolled over on his good side. “Yeah, it’s Severus’ method,” he explained. “He’ll heal a wound partway, then close it and let it finish naturally. I guess the muscle is still split under there.” He snorted. “Evil man, he’s taking revenge for what he calls my ‘reckless heroism.’”

Draco rolled on his side to face him. “I still can’t believe you rode sixty miles with that hole in your side.” He traced the scar lightly and followed the lines of the ruined lion tattoo. Harry pulled him against his chest, tucking the blond’s head under his chin. “I love the way you smell,” Draco murmured, pressing his nose against the hollow of Harry’s throat.

“What, sweat and dirt?” Harry wondered.

Draco shook his head. “No, you always smell clean. Like some sort of herbs.”

Harry laughed. “I’ve been around Severus too long if I smell like his potion herbs.” He kissed Draco’s hair. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just stay,” Draco whispered, and Harry tilted his chin up to kiss him again, long and slow.

“Talk to me?” he asked.

So Draco talked. He told Harry about the life they could have together, how no one could object to their relationship because everyone loved Harry. Even his short time with Harry had changed him, made him realise there were real people looking up to him and depending on him. He imagined finishing a meeting with his advisors and meeting Harry in the gardens, full of the summertime life, or sitting together, grey in their hair, and watching the next class young recruits being trained, year after year.

Harry fell asleep while Draco spoke, his breathing deepening and arms relaxing, but Draco didn’t mind. He just burrowed deeper into Harry’s warmth and closed his eyes.

* * *

 

Harry woke slowly, feeling the lingering ache of the previous day’s fight in his muscles. He was curled around Draco’s still-sleeping form, nose tickled by white-blond hair. Night was gone, daylight streaming through the windows, but Harry tightened his arm across Draco’s stomach, not wanting to let him go. Draco stirred, waking just as slowly as Harry had.

“Ahem.”

Blinking blearily, Harry raised his head to see Severus coming through the door from the room he had left Harry in. “Good morning,” he greeted, yawning.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

“Severus!” Draco squeaked, pulling the covers over his head. Severus raised an eyebrow, and Harry snorted.

“Are those mine?” he asked, pointing to the bundle of clothes in Severus’ hands. “Am I off bed rest?”

“Yes and yes,” the physician replied, handing over the bundle. “I washed them. Your various armaments are still in the other room.” Harry nodded and threw back the covers, uncaring of his near-nudity. Severus was a physician, he’d seen it all before. In fact, having raised him from a boy, he’d seen all Harry’s before.

The man followed him into the other room, closing the door behind him. “I know my place, Sev,” he said, sitting on the bed the pull on his woollen stockings.

“That has never troubled me,” Severus told him. “You are many things, Harry Potter, but not insubordinate. You are reckless, powerful, protective, and almost painfully cheerful at times, but you have never thought yourself above your station.” He looked pointedly over Harry’s shoulder, indicating his back. “If anything, you think yourself unworthy.”

“I do,” Harry agreed, tugging his shirt over his head and tucking it into his trousers. “That’s why I will be returning to my regular duties today. If my Lord Heir requires a personal guard, I shall be happy to recommend a suitable guardsman.”

Severus looked over him. His face was blank and unreadable, but his eyes were almost sad. “You are in love with him.”

“I am,” Harry admitted. “And he fancies himself in love with me. He asked me to pretend, just once, but I can’t lie in daylight.”

“He will marry soon,” Severus said quietly. “Lucius has already begun the search.”

Harry’s hand tightened reflexively on the tunic in it and he forced it to relax. “I wish him all possible happiness, then,” he replied tonelessly.

Severus squeezed his shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from a man who liked neither comfort nor contact. “You’re a good man, Harry. Possibly too good.”

He left, and Harry pulled the tunic over his head. He finished dressing in a distracted silence. He needed to distance himself from Draco, to put them back into their proper roles. He was Captain Potter, and Draco was his Lord Heir.

A knock sounded on the door between their rooms. “Enter!” Harry called, inspecting his sword. His fight with Mcnair’s men, short as it was, had left dents and scratches on the blade.

“Harry?” Draco asked tentatively, opening the door.

“My Lord,” Harry responded blandly, and Draco’s face fell. He sheathed his sword and turned, dropping into a bow. “It has been an honour to guard you, my Lord.”

“Harry, please…” Draco reached for him, but Harry leaned back, still bent. The noble’s hand lowered shakily, leaving the space between them. “You…have served well,” he whispered roughly.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Harry replied, straightening. He stared blankly forward, not meeting Draco’s eyes, his pose one of relaxed attention.

“I…” Draco choked back a noise that might have been a sob and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Dismissed, Captain Potter.”


	4. Chapter 4

As much as he enjoyed kneading bread dough, Harry wished the task did more to capture his attention. Instead, the simple repetitive motions left his mind to wander, and his thoughts inevitably made their way back to Draco every time.

It was well into the winter cold, a fortnight since he had left Draco’s rooms, and he’d not seen his Lord Heir since. He wasn’t even attending any meetings with his father, where Harry was required to be with Lord Malfoy. He was avoiding Harry as much as Harry was avoiding him.

That hurt a little, even if he did know it was for the best.

“Good evening, Captain Potter.”

The soft voice came from behind him, startling him. Harry spun around as much as he could, still wrist-deep in dough for the next day’s bread. Lady Narcissa Malfoy smiled warmly at him.

“My Lady!” he gasped. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t hear you approach. I would bow, but…” he trailed off, glancing at the sticky mass in, and around, his hands.

“I understand, of course,” Lady Malfoy laughed lightly. She snagged a nearby stool and pulled it over, sitting on the other side of the table facing Harry. “You’re a very busy man, Captain Potter. It makes you difficult to track down.”

“I did not know you were searching for me, or I would have made myself available,” Harry murmured. He continued his kneading, but kept his eyes on Lady Malfoy. “Is there something I can do for you, my Lady?”

“Nothing, in your official capacity,” she said. A young scullery maid brought her a cup of warm cider, which she accepted with a smile and a word of thanks. “I wonder if Lucius ever told you why he bought your contract,” she continued quietly, and Harry shook his head, confused by the subject change. “There is an old tradition in the Malfoy family of buying a single young male slave, close to the age of the Lord Heir. Malfoys never hold slaves otherwise.”

“And I was that slave,” Harry realised.

“Yes,” she nodded regally, “you were. Just as there was a slave when Lucius was a boy, and when his father Abraxas was a boy, just like so many generations before them. This slave is always freed at his majority or before, like you were, and always treated well and educated, just like you were.”

“I had wondered,” Harry said, his hands falling still. “I was young, but even then I knew most slaves weren’t treated like I was. I had a better life here, as property, than I ever did free with my relatives.”

Lady Malfoy studied him silently for a moment. There was an emotion in her eyes that Harry couldn’t fathom, but it wasn’t pity. “I never knew what called Lucius to buy you before, until he told me the other night. The auctioneer called you ‘unusually magical,’ he said. That’s why the Malfoy’s buy slaves, to save those powerful boys from deplorable treatment at the hands of their masters.

“Now, noble as that is, that isn’t all,” she continued, seemingly oblivious to the way Harry was frozen, staring at her. “There is hope that the boy, as a slave or _licens_ , will become a companion of sorts to the Lord Heir. They grow up together, in the same manor, and have similar educations. The slave always comes from a different background, though. The Lord hopes that a friendship between the two will teach the Lord Heir to be a better Lord.”

“My Lord raised me to be his son’s friend,” Harry summarised.

“Lucius gave a young boy a chance at a good life, hoping he might be a good influence on his son,” Lady Malfoy corrected. “Lucius is proud of the young man you have become, Harry, as am I. I know that Severus is, too. He may never admit it, but he would be overjoyed to be able to call you his son.”

Harry stared at the dough flattening slowly on the table between them. “Who was the last slave?” he asked slowly. “Who was it that Lord Abraxas bought?”

“It was Severus,” Lady Malfoy told him. “He was older than you.” Harry nodded slowly, still watching the dough spread out across the scoured wood.

Lady Malfoy stood, signalling an end of the…uncomfortable topic of conversation. She bent and picked something up off the floor. She placed Macnair’s sword and sheath on the clean portion of the table. “My Lord husband wishes you to have this. You kept Draco safe, which kept our minds at ease, and he honours you for it.”

Harry bowed as best he could, keeping his sticky hands out of contact with his clothes. “You have my humble thanks, my Lady, as does my Lord. It was the least I could do.”

Lady Malfoy smiled knowingly. “I think it was rather more than that,” she said, and Harry frowned. She turned away to look over the kitchen, full of the preparation work for the next day, giving off a casual air that Harry distrusted immediately. “Dear Lucius is having such difficulty finding a suitable partner for Draco. I almost think he would prefer one he had raised himself. Goodnight, Captain Potter.”

“Goodnight, my Lady,” Harry replied faintly, head spinning.

* * *

 

Draco stayed in his seat as his father dismissed the advisors. Lucius cocked an eyebrow at him, asking what he was doing. Draco gave him a look in reply that said he had it all handled, and Lucius stood with a short nod, leaving the hall. “I would speak with you, Captain Potter,” Draco called, halting Harry in his attempts to follow Lucius from the hall. “Come here.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry replied stiffly as he eased his hand away from his sword, where it always landed when he was startled. He approached Draco’s chair, at the right hand of his father’s, looking more through Draco than at him.

It caused an ache in Draco’s chest. It was the first they’d spoken in three weeks, the first time they had really acknowledged each other’s presence. Draco had only started attending meetings again after his father stormed his rooms, all but dragging him from his bed and asking him how he ever thought he would be a good Lord if he didn’t bother to learn.

Harry still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and that hurt.

Stopping in front of Draco’s seat, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, pressing his fist over his heart. It was the same pose he had taken when he swore fealty to Lucius, after he became captain of the guard. He said nothing, waiting for orders.

Draco hated it. He hated the way they were forced to act, the way the structure of society kept Harry from him.

“It has been brought to my attention,” Draco said slowly, the formal, stilted words heavy on his tongue, “that I am…less than able to defend myself, should the need arise. I wish to remedy that.”

“One of my senior guardsmen would be happy to train you, my Lord,” Harry said demurely.

Draco frowned. “I would prefer to be trained by the captain. Your skills are excellent.”

“My Lord keeps me busy with my duties protecting him and organising the guard,” Harry replied, never raising his eyes from the floor. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time. I assure you, my Lord, my senior guardsmen are more than adequate enough to train you.”

Draco scowled. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to recreate their time at Sirius’ cottage farm, when Harry had been focused completely on him.

He should have known it wouldn’t work, not back in the manor. Not now that the threat was gone.

“I insist, Captain Potter,” he tried again.

“Then you have my apologies, my Lord,” Harry said. “I will spare you what I can, but I do not have the time to train you properly, as you should be trained.”

“Harry,” Draco pleaded. He started the reach out a hand, but dropped it when Harry flinched away. “Don’t shut me out. _Please_.”

“I must return to my duties,” Harry said tonelessly, standing. “Come to the barracks after you breakfast. I will assign someone to train you. Excuse me, my Lord.” He bowed and left, not once having met Draco’s eyes.

* * *

 

The sun was well up when Harry passed through the yard. He’d avoided it in the mornings whenever possible, since Draco had been training there for the last week. He paused to watch the noble demonstrate a reasonable attempt at a high parry/middle slash combination, aimed at an invisible opponent’s gut. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck as he wielded the wooden sword form.

“Again,” Marcus Flint, the man Harry had assigned to train him, called. He was leaning on his own sword form, watching carefully. Draco did the combination again, still shy of fighting speed.

Flint straightened up as he spotted Harry coming across the yard. “Captain Potter.”

“Flint,” Harry nodded back, unclasping his cloak. “Take a break.” He handed off his cloak to Flint, trading it for his wooden sword form.

“Yes sir.” Flint tossed the cloak over his arm, accepting the captain’s sword and sheath a moment later as Harry removed them from his belt to fight.

Harry tossed the wooden form from hand to hand, getting used to the lighter weight and change in balance. “Show me what you’ve learned this week, my Lord,” he said, settling into a fighting stance. Draco copied him, and Flint stepped forward, hand raised to start the bout.

Flint dropped his hand and Harry attacked immediately, starting with a high cut to prompt Draco into trying the combination he’d just been practicing. It was passable, and Harry blocked the gut slash with ease. Draco hesitated for too long, still stretched out with his weapon in contact with Harry’s, and Harry gave his sword form a twirl. Draco couldn’t bend his wrist around to follow and lost his grip. The sword form clattered to the ground between them.

“Don’t hesitate like that,” Harry said. “Always return to your stance.” He nudged the sword form with a booted toe. “Again.”

Flint started them again. Harry came at his neck from the side, a beheading move, and Draco scrambled to bring his own weapon up fast enough to block. He didn’t push Harry’s form away, just stopped it from reaching his neck, and Harry changed course to hit Draco on the top of the shoulder instead. “Never stay still. Push it away from you.”

Draco nodded, settling back into his stance. Harry eased backwards, circling slowly, and Draco rotated to follow him. “Keep your eyes on me. Watch here,” he tapped his chest with one hand, “so you can see where I’ll move.” He took a quick strike at Draco’s side and the noble blocked him faster that time, shoving his sword form away. He saw Draco’s next move in the shift of his shoulders, the way he angled his body, and he blocked Draco’s own slash at his ribs. He could tell he was trying to strategize, going for Harry’s left side when he held the form in his right hand.

“Nice try,” Harry smirked. He pushed Draco’s weapon down and away, pulling the noble off balance and leaving him open. He smacked Draco on the hip and traced the tip of the form across his stomach. “Don’t let me do that.”

“How?” Draco demanded, speaking for the first time.

“Strength and practice.” Harry shrugged, grinning teasingly. He always enjoyed a training bout, a chance to flex his muscles without the stress of a real fight. “Try not to leave yourself open and stretched out like that.”

They started another bout, Harry still going at two-thirds fighting speed to give Draco a chance to keep up. He made to quick strikes, high and middle, and Draco blocked them. Harry used the push Draco gave him on the second block to snap the form down to his left knee, pulling it across the back in a manoeuvre that would have hobbled him with a real blade. Harry smacked the flat against his knee, knocking it out from under him. Draco stumbled and hit the ground.

“Your progress is good,” Harry commented, pressing the tip of the wooden form into the dirt and leaning on it. “You need to build up muscle before you even think about a real blade, though. You’re too slow with the form yet, because it’s still heavy for you.” He turned to Flint. “Very good. Work up to attacks, he’s only reacting.”

“Yes sir.” He handed Harry’s sword and cloak back to him.

Harry glanced up at the sky as he swung the cloak over his shoulders. “You’re finished for today. Flint, warn the patrols. Snow at sundown.”

Flint looked at the thin clouds in surprise. “Are you sure, sir?”

“Always,” Harry grinned, staring at the dark clouds massed at the edge of the North horizon. A faint but steady northern breeze stirred his fringe. “It’s midday, Flint. Go stuff your face.”

“Yes sir!” Flint replied with a grin and a cheeky salute. Harry snatched Draco’s sword form and aimed a smack at him as he passed. The larger guardsman danced out of the way, laughing as he ran.

Harry turned to Draco, putting on his most professional expression. “Is Flint satisfactory, my Lord?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “But I’d rather have you, Harry.”

“Draco, stop,” Harry hissed, keeping his face blank in case anyone was watching. “I’ve told you.”

“And I don’t believe you,” Draco shot back. “You gave me a bunch of half-formed excuses, but I think you’re just scared.” He came even closer, close enough for Harry to feel the heat radiating from him. “You’re the bravest man I know, so why can’t you just admit it already?”

Harry was rescued by a page sprinting toward them, waving a missive at him. Harry took it, ignoring the bowing page as he read. He dismissed the page with a flick of his fingers. “My Lord requests my presence for midday,” he told Draco. He tucked the missive away in his pocket, buckling his sword on again. “Excuse me.”

“Of course,” Draco murmured.

Harry started to go, then hesitated and turned back. “I’m not afraid, Draco,” he said softly, staring at the ground. “If I don’t admit anything, no one can hurt me with it. Especially you.”

“Harry, I would never hurt you.” His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for him, but stayed by his side. “Don’t you know that?”

“Even if you don’t mean to,” Harry said slowly, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s, “you will. Good day, my Lord.”

He bowed and walked away, leaving Draco standing dumbfounded in the yard.

* * *

 

Draco watched his father, seated on the sofa in his sitting room with his fingertips pressed together as he stared into the fire. If he didn’t know better, Draco might have said that Lucius was working up the nerve to tell him something.

“Avery has joined Slytherin,” he said bluntly, startling Draco. “Since leaving here, he has also gained the support of Crabbe and Goyle, of Rutland, and Selwyn of Cambridgeshire, but Avery is by far the strongest Lord.”

Draco nodded, taking it in. “What does that mean, then?”

Lucius took a long moment to answer. “It means he could try for the throne now,” he said slowly. “His Majesty Lord Dumbledore is aging, and he has not appointed a Royal Heir. Slytherin would not need to succeed in a total overthrow. Should he kill Lord Dumbledore, the chaos would be enough to ruin us all.”

“A second Dark Time,” Draco murmured. The Dark Time had been before even Lucius was born, when Draco’s grandfather Abraxas was younger than Draco. A man proclaiming himself to be a Lord Grindlewald had tried to bring the counties of England together by conquering them all. The King before him had died without appointing a Royal Heir, and the Lords had weakened themselves by fighting with each other over the throne. It was Lord Dumbledore that had killed Grindlewald in battle. A gathering of the strongest Lords, including Draco’s great-grandfather, had proclaimed Lord Dumbledore worthy of being King then.

A log popped in the fire as the Malfoys stared at it.

“Will there be a call to war?” Draco asked quietly.

“I expect a courier within the week,” Lucius murmured back.

* * *

 

A week after he last spoke to Draco, and after the midday with Lucius, Harry was patrolling the roads out of Low Town with Jimmy Peakes, a recently promoted guardsman who had just finished his recruit training. He was young and green, but he had an arm on him that made him deadly with a good sword.

He let Peakes watch in silence, still high strung with his new status. Harry turned over the information Malfoy had given him over the last week. The Lord fully expected a call to war any day now, and Harry was quietly preparing to follow it. He stepped up the recruit training, promoting some of them earlier than he usually would like. If the call came, Malfoy and Harry would take the experienced portion of the guard with them, leaving only the oldest and youngest guardsmen to protect the manor.

Coming over a rise, Harry saw a glint of a rich, unnatural colour through the dead trees, far down the road. “Pull up,” he ordered, bringing Prongs to a halt. Peakes stopped beside him, looking around, and Harry pointed. “There,” he said, indicating the flash of purple coming toward them. “That’s a Royal colour.”

“A messenger?” Peakes asked, shocked. Malfoy’s predictions were not common knowledge amongst the guard.

“Couldn’t be anything else,” Harry murmured. “Go back and warn the gate. Tell them a Royal courier is coming, they’ll know what to do.”

“Yes Captain.” Peakes saluted sharply and wheeled his horse around, setting off back into Low Town at a gallop. Harry watched him go before spurring Prongs into a gallop of his own, down the road to meet the courier.

When he was close enough to see the man’s face, Harry slowed, raising a hand in welcome. The courier, a black man around Harry’s age, raised a hand in return, slowing his mount to a walk. Knowing it was urgent, Harry pulled Prongs around to walk with him, acting as an escort.

“Harry Potter, captain of the Malfoy guard,” he introduced himself, inclining his head.

“Dean Thomas, Royal courier,” his companion replied, fishing a chain out from under the dull purple cloak wrapped tightly around him. The Dumbledore crest, a stylised rising Phoenix and flame, was carved into one side of the pendant, and Thomas turned it around to show the Royal crown and sword on the other side. “I have an urgent message from his Majesty Lord Dumbledore.”

“Right then,” Harry nodded sharply. “I’ll take you to Lord Malfoy.”

They spurred the horses into a gallop again and headed for the manor, cloaks streaming out behind them.

Malfoy was waiting for them as they came into the yard, horseshoes clattering on the stone of the square. Thomas slid from his horse with ease, bowing politely. “Your Lordship, I bear a message from his Majesty Lord Dumbledore.”

“I will receive it privately,” Malfoy replied, inclining his head. “Captain Potter, attend.”

“Yes my Lord.” Harry swung down and handed the reins off to a groom who rushed over. He caught Draco’s eye for just a second as he moved to follow. Draco looked calm and steady, like he had expected the call as well.

Harry wondered if he knew what it really meant.

* * *

 

“It is good that I expected this,” Lucius murmured, taking a sip of his wine. “Some of the most arduous preparations are already complete.”

Draco hummed in agreement, sitting across the table in his father’s private rooms, but he didn’t really know anything about the preparations.

“We will leave in a fortnight,” Lucius continued.

Draco choked on the wine he had just swallowed. “We?” he gasped. “I know next to nothing about war and fighting! Flint won’t even let me use a real blade!”

“Not you, Draco,” Lucius assured him. “I will go, with Captain Potter.”

“Harry?” Draco asked in shock. “Why does he need to go?”

Lucius gave him a look that clearly told him to use his brain. “Harry is captain of the guard. He is an accomplished warrior and an excellent leader, and it is a good thing that he is as loyal to me as he is. I have no delusions that the guard would ever choose to follow me over him, even if he remains oblivious to the fact.” He smirked at Draco. “Besides, I believe he would like the chance to meet Slytherin again in person. And on more equal grounds.”

Draco didn’t find it very funny. “But he could die!” he pointed out.

“Yes,” Lucius nodded solemnly. “Harry could die. I could die. The miller’s son from the Low Town could die. It is a reality of combat. However,” he reached over to take Draco’s hand, a comforting gesture he hadn’t used since Draco was very young, “Harry has put the guard through one of the most extensive training regimens in England, and it pales in comparison to his own training. I have every confidence that Captain Potter will see me safely through this.”

Draco could hear what his father didn’t say, though.

 _Harry will only be hurt in an attempt to protect me. If I am under threat, Harry would gladly die to save me_.

Father and son were silent for a long moment, lost in their separate thoughts. Draco wondered if this was really possible, to lose Harry so soon after he had found him.

“You will take my place here,” Lucius said suddenly. Draco snapped his head up to face his father. “Severus will be your greatest help, but do not discount your mother’s advice.” He squeezed Draco’s forearm. “Be the man I raised you to be, nothing less, and you will make me proud.”

* * *

 

The barracks were a sombre place that night, Harry noticed. Everyone was gathered around a small fire outside, except the night patrols, but no one was drinking. They simply sat quietly and watched the sun set, knowing their lives would change when they rode out at dawn.

“I went to see Romilda today,” Adrian Pucey said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“The brothel keeper’s daughter?” someone asked. “Romilda Vane?”

“Yeah.” Pucey stared at his hands in his lap. “I told her that I love her, and if…when I come back, I’m going to marry her.”

There were muted congratulations throughout the group, and Harry stepped forward to clap Pucey on the back. “I’ll bring you back for your wedding,” he promised. Pucey smiled wanly at him.

“I helped my parents today,” another guardsman spoke up, following Pucey’s lead. “They live outside the Low Town. My father has back problems these days, so I spent a few hours splitting firewood for him. For the winter, you know.”

“I spent the day with my daughter,” yet another man said. “I told her we could do whatever she wanted, then I took her to the seamstress and ordered a new winter dress for her.”

And so it went, man after man speaking up, telling the rest about what he did that day with the knowledge that he may not return. They spoke of wives and husbands, children and nieces and nephews, of lovers and parents. Everyone wanted to leave good memories with the people that meant the most to him.

“I went to the Low Town orphanage where I grew up and played with the kids there.”

“Eliza and I went to Justice Green today and got married. If nothing else, I want her to know that I loved her.”

When the men fell silent again, Harry looked up at the sky. The stars were coming out, and he could pick out Orion’s belt and sword. “Get some sleep, everyone,” he ordered. “Dawn will come fast.”

There was a soft murmur of “Yes Captain” and “Yes sir” as everyone stood and made their way to their bunks or rooms. Harry went stayed on his bench outside, watching their small fire die. He was staying in his old room in Severus’ quarters that night, not the captain’s quarters.

“Hey Potter.” He turned to see Flint approaching. “Who did you go see today?”

“No one,” Harry murmured. “I’m staying with Severus tonight, but I couldn’t spare the hours to ride out to see Sirius.”

Flint sat heavily beside him, staring up at the stars. “You’re not an island, Potter,” he said quietly. “If there’s someone you want to see, go. There’s nothing to stop you, not tonight.”

Harry let that thought sink in, understanding what Flint was saying. If he never made it back to the manor, there was someone he wanted to remember him well. Someone he needed to see.

“You’re right,” he grunted, standing. “You’re a good man, Marcus Flint.”

“Likewise, Harry Potter,” Flint grinned.

Harry clapped a hand on the back of Flint’s neck, pressing their foreheads together, and Flint gripped his shoulder. It was an old gesture, from a senior guardsman to his subordinate, one that showed trust and respect. It wasn’t used much except in times of war.

“Keep them safe for me.”

“I will. You bring them home again, Captain.” Flint pulled back, grinning. “Go see your someone now, Potter, before it gets too late.”

Harry ran.

* * *

 

Draco had dismissed Seamus after dinner. He could handle himself for one night, and he wanted to be alone. Lucius would ride out dawn, Harry by his side, leading the Malfoy contingent to war.

How many would come back?

A loud, desperate knocking at his door broke Draco’s contemplation of the dying sitting room fire. It burst open as he turned, closing behind a slightly dishevelled figure, breathing hard.

“Harry?!”

“Draco.” He took Draco’s face in gentle hands, dropping into his lap with knees on either side of Draco’s hips. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you, just for a moment.”

“Shut up,” Draco whispered harshly and kissed him. Harry made a needy noise deep in his throat and he returned the kiss, his weight warm and heavy in Draco’s lap and his hands snaking around Draco’s waist to pull him closer.

Harry pulled away to trail kisses down his neck, hot and open-mouthed. “You have to come back,” Draco growled in his ear. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“Of course I’m coming back,” Harry murmured against his skin. He bit down on the place where Draco’s pulse fluttered rapidly, and Draco knew he was leaving a mark to remember him by. Draco groaned and dragged Harry back up to kiss him again, and it was a long time before they broke apart again.

“Stay,” Draco pleaded.

Harry shook his head, leaning his forehead against Draco’s. “I’m staying with Severus tonight.” He stood. “I want you to take this,” he said, unbuckling his sword from his belt.

“This is your short sword,” Draco said in wonder, accepting the sheathed blade.

“It is,” Harry nodded. “Sirius gave it to me when I was twelve, after I had enough training to handle a real blade.” He wrapped Draco’s hesitant fingers around it. “Keep it for me. Protect yourself while I’m gone.”

Draco set the sword aside, pulling Harry to him instead. “I’ll wait for you,” he promised. “I love you.”

Harry buried his face in the crook of Draco’s neck. “I know.” Draco figured that was as good as he was going to get from the captain. Harry raised his head to meet Draco’s eyes. “I have to go. Will you see us off tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” Draco replied. He leaned up those scant few inches to kiss Harry again, sweetly desperate. “Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry gave him a last lingering kiss. “Goodnight, Draco.” He slid out of Draco’s grasp and left.

Draco’s knees gave out as the door shut.

* * *

 

Dawn came cold and misty as Harry watched the contingent gather in the yard. Mounted guardsmen marshalled common foot soldiers, trained and willing volunteers from the villages, into order. Lord Malfoy surveyed the controlled chaos from his position at the front of the line, regal and powerful on his Thestral mount and dressed in the pale blue Malfoy colour.

“When do you expect to reach London?” Severus asked, coming up beside Harry.

“Three days, at the most,” Harry replied, wishing he could rub his hands together for warmth. They were all dressed out in full armour, a showy tradition that Harry didn’t like. Metal gauntlets were cold and inflexible. He would have much preferred his mail-backed gloves, made of supple leather and lined with wool. Not to mention the gorget was ice-cold and leeched the heat away from his neck, and his pauldrons kept his shoulders from moving all the way around.

At least he didn’t have to wear the heavy, echoing great helm. A perk of being captain, he was the most recognisable member of the guard and would ride beside Malfoy in just his mail coif.

“Take this,” Severus said suddenly. He pressed a bag of coins into Harry’s hands.

“What? No, I can’t take your money,” Harry protested.

“Don’t be foolish,” Severus scowled. “It’s your money. Your wages since you joined the guard. I knew you wouldn’t accept it then, since you thought you were still a slave, so I’ve kept it for you.” He pressed the bag on Harry again, and he accepted it that time. “You need a new horse. Do yourself a favour and spend it on that.”

Harry sighed, knowing it was true. Prongs was old, almost too old to be any good. “I’ll find one in London,” he promised. “Sev…” he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You are…the best father I could have asked for.”

Severus gave him a half-hearted glare, his eyes suspiciously watery. “Brat,” he said thickly, pulling Harry into a tight hug. “Keep safe. None of that reckless heroism.”

Harry just gave a watery laugh. “Go on, then. You’re a busy man.”

“Too right I am.” He pressed a brief kiss to Harry’s brow, something he’d never done before, then walked away quickly.

A groom brought Prongs over, and Harry tucked the money away in his saddlebags. He set to checking the tack, making sure the straps were tight enough but wouldn’t chafe on the horse’s middle.

He turned as a hand landed on his back. Draco was waiting for him, Harry’s sword hanging from his belt. He looked so pale and beautiful in the predawn light.

“You came,” Harry smiled.

“I came,” Draco nodded. “I could hardly not, my father’s leaving too.” Harry snorted and Draco almost smiled. “I know what you mean, though. I have something for you.” He held out the bundle of cloth in his hands, and Harry traded Prongs’ reins for it.

It was a cloak, newly made of heavy, winter-weight wool. The main part of it was a rich blue, the same as Harry’s cloak, but it was edged in the Malfoy family blue, as pale as Draco’s skin in the cold morning air.

“Your colour…I can’t…” Harry whispered, fingers tracing the Malfoy crest picked out in delicate stitches in the center.

“You can,” Draco insisted. “If anyone deserves to wear the Malfoy colour, it’s you.” He gripped Harry’s upper arm, the least-armoured part of him. “It’s almost midwinter, and it’s only going to get colder from here. Take it. Wear it proudly into battle.”

Harry nodded weakly. Draco unfastened the captain’s cloak he was wearing, fastening the new one around his shoulder in its place. “I wish I could kiss you now,” Harry murmured.

Draco smiled sadly. “Save it for me, and I’ll take it when you return.” He stepped back, falling into a half bow. “Goodbye, Harry.”

Harry bowed low, fist over his heart. “Goodbye, Draco. My Lord.”

“My love,” Draco murmured weakly. “Go.”

Harry swung himself up onto Prongs, letting out a sharp whistle. The chaos around him ordered itself immediately, each man falling into his place in line. Harry came up alongside Malfoy. “Ready?” The Lord gave a sharp nod. “Move out!” Harry called.

“Look,” Malfoy said quietly just before they passed through the gate. Draco and Lady Malfoy were watching them, both with tears on their faces. Together, Harry and Lord Malfoy raised their arms and pressed their fists over their hearts. Draco pressed a hand over his mouth, and his mother wrapped her arms around him.

“You’ll be alright?” Malfoy asked as they made their way out of the Low Town.

“Yeah,” Harry replied slowly. “I will be.”

Malfoy nodded. His Thestral shuffled its wings, and he clucked at it. “Draco might have well have picked his own husband,” he remarked casually.

Harry choked on his spit in surprise. “W-What do you mean, my Lord?”

“Your cloak,” Malfoy smirked at him. “He’s all but claimed you as part of our family.”

“Oh,” Harry squeaked. Malfoy hummed in agreement.

“He’s headstrong when he wants something,” he said. “I can’t fault him for his taste, though.”

Harry’s face burned.


	5. Chapter 5

“We’re outside the Boot seat, in county Berkshire,” Malfoy said, answering Harry’s silent question as they dismounted. They had hardly spoken all day, not since Malfoy’s surprising acceptance of Draco’s little statement.

As wary as Harry was of letting Draco ‘claim’ him, the cloak was warm and well-made, and he’d be stupid to toss it aside.

Harry was glad his guardsmen never dragged their feet when he gave an order. They set up camp quickly, spurred on by sharp directions and promises that they could eat and sleep when they were done.

Still, it was past dark by the time Harry could relax. His own tent was small and shared with Oliver Wood, but it suited his needs. It was empty at the moment, Wood off somewhere eating supper, and Harry sat down with a sigh of relief, removing his heavy gorget and letting it fall to the bed beside him. He fumbled with the straps on his pauldrons, groaning when he got the first one off and put his shoulder through a full rotation.

“You are not accustomed to full armour, I take it.” Malfoy leaned against the frame of his tent with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Harry grunted. “I prefer mail. Less restrictive.” He pulled off the other pauldron and moved on to stripping off his vambraces. “How can I help you, my Lord?”

“None of that. You needn’t call me Lord in private, Harry.” He sat on Wood’s bunk. “Malfoy is fine. For now.”

Harry coughed. “Well then. What can I do for you, Malfoy?”

Malfoy gave a small smile. “Nothing. Dine with me. I wish to have the chance to get to know you better, as we will be spending a considerable amount of time together before this…unpleasantness is over.”

“Of course,” Harry murmured, following Malfoy to his tent.

“Do sit, Harry.” Malfoy gestured to one of the light, portable chairs around his folding table. “Harper.”

Malfoy’s manservant, Harper, set the table. Harry knew Harper in passing from his time spent in the kitchens and the occasional servants’ balls Malfoy allowed. The man was several years younger than him, but competent and quiet.

He was also rather cute, Harry thought, flashing him a grin. In a boyish kind of way. Harper flushed and hurried away.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. “Flirting with servants now, Harry?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching the Lord carefully. “Servants are still people, Malfoy,” he said. “They want to be noticed and appreciated just as much as you or I do.”

“Indeed,” Malfoy murmured, leaning back in his seat. He regarded Harry carefully. “Narcissa has told you why I bought your contract, all those years ago.”

Harry inclined his head, wondering where this new turn in conversation would go. “My Lady has also told me that Severus’ contract was bought when you were a boy.”

“Yes,” Malfoy agreed, “but I wonder, do you know whose contract was bought when my father was young?” Harry shook his head. “It was a young orphan boy,” Malfoy said slowly, “by the name of Tom Riddle Jr. He was taught alongside my father, Abraxas. He showed a great deal of power and talent, but none of the passion Severus has, nor your determination and loyalty. He left before his contract was released, never having gotten along with Abraxas and intent on searching out his family.”

Harry pondered this new knowledge as he savoured the roast mutton Harper served them. He wanted to urge Malfoy to get to the point, but couldn’t bring himself be so…insubordinate.

“Young Riddle found that his mother was the only daughter of a minor Lord in Kent. His uncle was Lord Morfin Gaunt, a mad, magically weak man sunk into poverty due to his father’s wasteful spending. Riddle was,” Malfoy grimaced, “not pleased. He began gathering followers and eventually deposed his uncle, but having the Gaunt Lordship was not enough for him. It was three years later that he defeated the Prewett twins, the joint main Lords of Kent. He has taken on a new name since then.” Malfoy pinned Harry with a significant look. “Lord Slytherin.”

Harry paused, lowering the cup that was halfway to his mouth. He met Malfoy’s gaze, stared at him for long moments. “Why tell me this?” he asked eventually.

Malfoy smiled, like Harry’s question had pleased him. “I see this battle ending two different ways. One is Slytherin killing his Majesty Lord Dumbledore, plunging us into a second Dark Time before his eventual bloody triumph.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “And the other?”

“Him dying under your sword.” Harry blinked in surprise, but Malfoy smiled smugly. “Oh, the others are angry at Slytherin, yes, and some would be quite happy to kill him, but none like you. After his attempts on Draco’s life, I think you have a much more personal motive in this war than the others.”

* * *

 

“Good morning, my Lord,” Seamus crowed, whipping back the curtains over the window in Draco’s room.

“Go away,” Draco rasped. His throat was rough after crying himself to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

“Can’t,” Seamus replied brightly. “You have duties to attend to, my Lord, what with Lord Malfoy gone.”

Draco shook his head, burying himself further under the covers. “I can’t. Tell my mother I’m sick.”

Seamus gave a heavy sigh, and Draco expected to hear him leaving the room. Instead, he felt the weight of him sitting on the bed beside Draco’s legs. “Do you know why I’m here? In Wiltshire at all, I mean.”

Draco pushed the covers down over one eye, curious despite himself. Seamus regarded him with a serious expression, so unlike the manservant’s usual happy demeanour, and Draco shook his head. “You’re Irish, aren’t you?” he asked, a little ashamed he had never asked before.

Harry would have.

“Yes, my Lord,” Seamus replied. “I was born in Belfast, a couple years before the start of the wars there. Mum moved us out to the villages when the fighting started.” He looked down at his hands and swallowed hard. “I was ten when Dad was conscripted. I thought I knew about war then, but I couldn’t figure out why mum kept crying.”

Draco sat up, his whole focus on his servant. He could still see the haunted shadows in Seamus’ face. “He never came back, did he?”

Seamus shook his head quickly. “The village blacksmith defected. He came back and told us.” He looked up again to stare out the window and set his shoulders. “Mum and I couldn’t stay there, so we came here. She has a cousin in Low Town. My Lord bringing me into his household was a real stroke of luck.”

“Do-“ Draco bit his lip, afraid to ask the question most on his mind. “Do you still remember your father?”

Seamus’ shoulders slumped again. “Every day,” he said softly. “Sometimes it still feels like just yesterday, but I always remember that he left me behind to take care of Mum, so I go to work anyway. He always had a smile on his face, so I try to do the same.” He turned to Draco, that familiar smile beginning to tug at his lips again. “You aren’t the only one to be left behind when war calls, my Lord. There’s naught you can do but carry on, try to smile, and find support in others.”

Draco reached out on impulse, taking Seamus’ hand and gripping it tightly for a beat. “I think I’ll wear grey today,” he said, trying for his usual imperious attitude, as he let go.

Seamus grinned at him, throwing open the wardrobe. “A very flattering colour on you, my Lord,” he said as he retrieved a dove grey tunic, pairing it with deep grey, nearly black leggings and a slate short-sleeved robe with silver buttons.

Studying himself in the mirror, Draco agreed. He looked noble, powerful, and collected, like his father, but there was something missing. He shook his head when Seamus offered him his belt knife, retrieving Harry’s short sword instead and buckling it on. The sword was worn and a bit battered, but well taken care of. Wearing it made him feel like he had Harry’s support, and that calmed him.

“How do I look?”

Seamus gave him a slow half-bow. “Like a true and worthy leader, my Lord.”

* * *

 

“Pull up here.”

Harry brought Prongs to a halt at the top of the rise next to Malfoy’s Thestral, letting him prance a bit in the cold. He tugged his cloak tighter around him, wishing for a fur-lined hood like the Lord’s.

Malfoy pointed to the steam and smoke rising on the crisp air a few miles away. “That’s it,” he said. “London. We’ll be there by nightfall.”

Harry nodded sharply, wheeling Prongs around to circle the contingent behind them. “Take heart, friends!” he called, standing in his stirrups so the foot soldiers in the back could hear him. “Tonight, we reach London!”

The cheers that rose up were tired and relieved, but no one protested when Harry urged them to quicken their pace. Everyone wanted to make camp and sleep until the battle started.

“You will attend me in London,” Malfoy said when Harry returned to his side. “Let Wood take care of the less important tasks.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry acquiesced with a nod.

“However,” Malfoy added suddenly, a smirk on his face, “you may not use your attendance to me as an excuse not to acquire a new mount.” He laughed lightly at Harry’s flush. “Yes, I know full well that Severus has given you the wages you would have refused before and told you to buy a horse with them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry agreed reluctantly. “I’ve become quite attached to Prongs, you know.” He stroked the old stallion’s neck tenderly. “Sirius gave him to me as a colt, just after I joined the guard. I suspect Remus helped him with the cost.”

“I shan’t force you to have him turned into glue, Harry,” Malfoy teased lightly, “but he is too old to be useful in battle. Hopefully we shall have enough time for you to get used to a new horse before Slytherin attacks, but there is no certainty of that. Find a new mount tonight, Wood will take charge of setting up our encampment.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

They rode the remaining miles to the encampment in silence, but there was a palpable energy in the air. Men who had previously slumped and dragged their feet walked tall with a new spring in their steps. Every man, including Harry, wanted to be there as soon as possible.

The camp, when they reached it, was a sprawling enormity of tents and smoke. Men dressed in all the colours dyers could make ran to and fro, sometimes dodging out of the way of horses at the last second. The Malfoy contingent had been granted a space near the center, not far from the bright purple monstrosity that was the King’s pavilion. Malfoy gave Harry a significant look as they dismounted, and Harry handed the Prong’s reins to Wood, telling him to get the camp set up before following the Lord.

“Are you ready for this, Harry?” Malfoy asked, pausing before the curtained entrance to the pavilion.

“Yes.”

Malfoy looked him over carefully. “No, you aren’t,” he said. “But neither am I,” he added with a sigh, “so we might as well get it over with.” He swept through the entrance. Harry followed behind him with a puzzled mind and a blank face.

The inside, lit by softly glowing orbs that drifted through the air, was taken up mostly by a large table. The man at the head was obviously Lord Albus Dumbledore, the King. His long white beard flowed over the front of his purple robes and was tucked into his belt, and his kind blue eyes twinkled even in the low light.

Harry stopped a pace behind Malfoy, dropping into a deep bow as his Lord did. “Your Majesty,” Malfoy greeted.

“Lord Malfoy of Wiltshire,” Dumbledore returned. “And who have you brought with you?”

“Harry Potter, Captain of my house guard.”

“He wears the Malfoy colour.” Harry met the eyes of the man who spoke, a black man standing to the right and slightly behind the King.

“The cloak was a gift from my Heir,” Malfoy explained before Harry could say anything. “A gratitude for saving his life from Lord Slytherin’s unscrupulous designs.”

Dumbledore accepted the explanation with a nod and a twinkle of his eye. “Sit, Lord Malfoy.” He gestured to a chair near his own right hand. “We have just been discussing the latest report on the size of Slytherin’s forces.”

Malfoy took his seat, Harry took his place standing behind his Lord, and the discussion began anew.

* * *

 

Harry’s head was whirling just from listening to the war council. Bloody noblemen couldn’t say anything straight. They tiptoed around alliances and alluded to ancient insults between houses. Several of the Lords could barely stand to be near each other. Minor nobleman of Somerset Septimus Weasley seemed to have some sort of feud with the House of Malfoy, though Lord Malfoy had appeared content to ignore the issue altogether. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the King’s advisor and the man who had noted the colour of Harry’s cloak, had watched Harry throughout the meeting with an odd look of expectation barely concealed.

All in all, Harry was glad to finally be released on the order that he find a new horse. He wandered around the twisting paths of the camp, muddy from the thousands of boots walking them, until he reached the Master of Beasts he had been told about on the outskirt of the camp.

As he approached, he could hear the angry screeching of some sort of bird and a man’s voice trying to talk to it.

“Whoa there, boy! Easy now!”

Harry quickened his pace as he rounded the Master of Beasts’ stables. A huge man, clearly the Master himself, was trying to approach a rearing and bucking animal, attempting to catch the rope that huge from a harness about its head. The animal was something Harry had never seen before; it had the back and hind legs of a horse, but its head and forelegs were of an eagle, which accounted for the screechy, bird-like noises it was making. It had wings, too, like the Malfoys’ Thestrals, but its wings were feathered like its head.

“C’mon boy, settle down,” the Master of Beasts shouted as he ducked a swipe of the creature’s talons. The animal reared up again and flapped, raising its claws to deliver a mortal blow. The Master of Beasts seemed either unconcerned or unaware that the creature was aiming to slit him open.

Harry rushed forward without thinking. He ducked under the animal’s talons, ignoring the scrape he felt across his scalp, and forced his way to stand directly under the animal’s head, where it was unable to bend to get to him. The creature screeched again and tried to back up to reach him, but Harry caught the dangling lead rope and yanked down hard on it. He kept yanking, forcing the creature’s head down into a deep bow, then sat on the rope to keep the animal down. It struggled for a minute before it gave in, its equine back half dropping to sit in the dirt.

“Crikey,” the Master of Beasts panted. “I thought he’d kill you for sure. Never seen anyone handle a Hippogriff like tha’.”

“Is it usual for one of these…Hippogriffs to be so wild?” Harry asked, glad to have a name for the creature he’d just wrestled.

“Nah,” the large man replied. “Hippogriffs is usually alright once they respect yeh. Just show ‘em who the master is. Buckbeak’s just proud, I guess.”

“Buckbeak,” Harry murmured, watching the clawed foot nearest him relax. The Hippogriff made an odd crooning noise and nudged his beak against Harry’s hand where it rested on his hip. Harry snatched his hand away, but Buckbeak kept nudging it and turning his head down to show the feathered top. Tentatively, Harry petted the soft feathers, his touch growing more firm when the Hippogriff cooed and plopped his heavy head down on Harry’s leg.

“He likes yeh,” the Master said, with no small part of amazement.

“He’s a beautiful animal,” Harry admitted. “Is he someone’s mount?”

The Master shook his head. “I found him hurt on my way here. I fixed him up all right, but he won’t let me near him anymore.” The man looked at him appraisingly. “You in the market for a new mount, your Lordship?”

Harry smiled ruefully. “I’m no Lord, sir, just a guardsman.” The Master of Beasts gave him an apologetic look, but Harry just waved it off. “I do, however, need a new mount. My own horse is too old to be any good in a battle, and I’m afraid the ride here didn’t help.”

“Then I’d like yeh to have Buckbeak here,” the Master said firmly. “He’s taken you as his master anyways. I can’t give him away to anyone else now.”

* * *

 

Draco nodded to the guardsman who opened the door. His mother waited, calm and collected as a queen, with a decadent midday spread on the table before her.

“Draco,” she greeted.

“Mother,” he replied, taking the seat across from her. “You have asked for my presence?”

Narcissa signalled for her maidservant Netty to pour them wine. “I am pleased to see you are not hiding in your room anymore.”

“Seamus was quite insistent,” he said, knowing full well that she had ordered Seamus to break his foul mood.

“Was he?” she murmured with an air of distraction. She speared a small piece of chicken and brought it to her mouth.

Draco ate in silence for a moment, watching his mother. “Why have you asked me here?” he asked eventually, laying down his fork and knife.

Narcissa laid her own fork aside and daubed her mouth with her napkin. “My Lord husband and the house guard have been gone for a week now,” she began. Draco clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to scowl or simply leave. “It would be unwise for us to appear to languish in their absence.”

“What do you propose then, Mother?” Draco gritted out.

Narcissa smiled calmly at him, unconcerned. “In my girlhood, I was great friends with Lord Faron Avery’s eldest daughter, Viola. I’m afraid I lost contact with her after my marriage to Lucius, and she was married to an Italian nobleman shortly after.” Draco sat in silence, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “Her husband was rather older than she, and he has just died, leaving the estate and title to her eldest son. She wrote to me and expressed a wish to see England again.”

“And how long will we be hosting your Lady…?”

“Zabini,” his mother supplied. “I have told her she must stay at least a month.” Narcissa gave him a shrewd look. “You will play the dutiful host, Draco.”

That time Draco did roll his eyes. “Of course, Mother.”

“Good.” She stood and rounded the table, patting him on the cheek on her way to look out the window. “Have rooms prepared for Lady Zabini and her son. They arrive on Sunday.”

“Her son!” Draco spluttered. “You never said anything about her son!”

Narcissa gave him a cool, steady look. “Viola Zabini and her second son Blaise are coming to visit and that is final, Draco.”

Draco glared for a moment, then bowed his head in acceptance. “Very well, Mother.”

* * *

 

“I see you do not waste time, Harry,” Malfoy greeted as he looked Buckbeak over appraisingly. “Though I did not think your wages were enough for such a creature. A Hippogriff, yes?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry replied. He tossed the reins over Buckbeak’s head and dismounted. A groom stepped up to take them, but Harry shook his head. “I didn’t have to buy him, the Master of Beasts gave him to me.” At Malfoy’s raised eyebrow, Harry hastened to explain. “He couldn’t tame Buckbeak like the other Hippogriffs. I stepped in to take control and apparently gained the animal’s loyalty. The Master of Beasts chose to give him to me, though I did offer to buy him.”

The Malfoy Lord chuckled. “I’m beginning to think the strangest things happen around you, Harry.”

“As am I, my Lord.” Harry started toward his tent, then stopped, remembering his place. “Is there anything else you need from me, my Lord?”

“Only to ask you to dine with me tonight.”

Harry bowed his head in acceptance. Malfoy nodded once and left to return to his own tent.

Harry drew his wand and conjured a post near the entrance of his tent. He tied Buckbeak securely, then patted his beak when the creature nudged him. He slid down to sit with his back against the post. Buckbeak grumbled but sat to join him.

“I don’t even know what you eat,” Harry muttered. Buckbeak made a cooing noise, nudging him for more petting. “I suppose I should have asked Hagrid,” Harry said, stroking Buckbeak’s feathery head. “I’ll go in the morning before breakfast, alright?”

Buckbeak chirruped, his head popping up to watch one of the Malfoy guardsmen pass. The guardsman raised a hand to greet Harry, then skittered out of the way when the Hippogriff hissed and snapped at him.

“Stop that,” Harry scolded. “I’m the captain, they have to come near me.” Buckbeak clicked his bead and dropped his heavy head to rest on Harry’s shoulder. “I suppose that means you’re sorry, huh?” A hard beak nudged Harry’s ear lightly. “I guess you aren’t so hard to figure out. You’re a pretty smart animal.”

Buckbeak cooed again and ruffled his feathers, looking proud. Harry laughed.

* * *

 

Blaise Zabini was tall, swarthy, full of charm, and far too interested in Draco. He sauntered through the halls of the Manor like it would all be his someday. He kept sending Seamus to Draco with invitations to go out riding or have midday in his rooms.

Draco hated him.

Lady Zabini, on the other hand, was lovely. Draco would fully admit to that. She had a beauty that rivalled his mother, though she was the opposite of Narcissa: petite, dark-haired and exuberant. The only issue Draco had with her was her poor attempt to drop subtle hints about a marriage between their families.

He missed Harry.

“You’re distracted, my Lord,” Flint scolded after Draco’s sword hit the ground again.

Draco dropped his gaze briefly, ashamed. Flint was covering Harry’s duties while he was gone and still taking time out of his day to teach Draco. “My apologies, Flint.” He bent to retrieve his sword.

Flint just shook his head. “That’s enough for today.” He glanced up at the heavy grey sky. “Snow’s coming soon, probably a big one. Your lessons might have to wait a while.”

“Don’t worry about the snow,” Draco replied. “We can practice in the throne room. There is plenty of space in there.”

“Very well, my Lord. I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning.” Flint bowed quickly and left the yard.

“Swordplay, Draco?” Draco might have jumped but he already knew Zabini was watching him. “What use does a Lord have for combat skills? Your guard is more than adequate to protect you.”

“The Malfoy guard is excellent, _Zabini_ ,” Draco drawled, “but most of them have gone to war, if you haven’t noticed.”

Zabini drifted closer to him, and Draco fought the urge to back away. “True, but what remains here is enough to keep you and your mother safe.”

“I see no need to rely on others for my safety all the time,” Draco bit out.

Zabini laughed once without humour. He picked up the fallen short sword before Draco could stop him. “At least you could get a better weapon.” He eyed the dents and scratches in the blade with distaste. “One that befits your noble status. Something with gold or gems, perhaps.”

Draco snatched the sword back and sheathed it. “I would rather have a functional weapon, not a ceremonial one.” He stepped around Zabini, intent on getting back to his rooms.

“Must be a gift, then.” The man followed him into the Manor. Draco scowled. “Sentimental attachment.” He stepped in front of Draco, forcing him to stop. “A friend in the Guard who went to the war, maybe?” He leaned in with a leer on his face, dropping his voice. “Or maybe a lover?” Draco flushed, making Zabini laugh coldly. “Do you miss your secret common lover, Draco? Your bit of rough? Does he make you feel…dangerous?”

Draco whipped his belt knife out and pressed the flat of the blade underneath Zabini’s jaw. “I watched the captain of the guard both disembowel and behead the last man who threatened me. Take care what you say about him.” Zabini’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Draco stepped back. “I have not given you permission to call me by my given name, _Zabini_. I would advise you against being so familiar in the future.”

“Of course, _Malfoy_.”

* * *

 

“Truce,” Lord Malfoy panted, lowering his sword. He stuck it into the dirt and leaned on it, catching his breath. “I am not as young as I once was.”

Harry chuckled, lowering his own sword. “You are still very skilled, my Lord.” Malfoy flapped a hand at him before clutching a stitch in his side. “Who trained you?”

Harper shoved through the gathered ring of guardsmen with two skins full of cold, fresh water. Harry caught the one tossed his way as Harper helped rub down the noble with a damp cloth.

“My father Abraxas grew up during the Dark Time,” Malfoy explained. He handed his empty skin back to Harper. “The fear of war never truly left him, and he made sure I was thoroughly trained in combat. Physical and magical.”

“Very thoroughly indeed,” Harry replied. “Perhaps we should spar more often.”

Malfoy inclined his head. “Thank you, Captain Potter. I will call on you when I have the time.” He gave the gathered crowd of guardsmen a sharp glance, making them all shuffle away back to their tasks shamefaced. “I meet with His Majesty this afternoon. Come to my tent after midday.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Harry bowed as Malfoy left.

Alone on the patch of dirt behind the Malfoy contingent’s tents, Harry stripped off his shirt and rubbed down his sweaty head with it. His arms and shoulders burned pleasantly from the exercise and his legged ached from holding his slightly crouched stance for the hour he and his Lord had sparred.

“That was quite the show.”

Harry looked up to see a stocky redheaded man approach. He looked to be a few years older than Harry, working class going by his rougher clothes.

“Er, thank you.”

“Oh, sorry.” The redheaded man offered his hand. “Charlie Weasley. I work with Hagrid. He sent me to make sure you were getting on alright with Buckbeak.”

“Right, course.” Harry sheathed his sword and shook the proffered hand. “Harry Potter-“

“Captain of the Malfoy guard,” Charlie finished for him. “Yeah, you’ve gotten a bit of a reputation about the camp. Hagrid seems to think you’re some noble in disguise or personal saviour.”

“I’m just a man who made a rash decision and it happened to work out all right. Buckbeak’s taken to staying in my tent.” Harry gestured for Charlie to follow him. “He doesn’t seem to like other people.”

Charlie laughed. “Yeah, hippogriffs are like that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you when I came up. I’ve just never seen a noble spar with anyone before.”

“Neither have I,” Harry joked. “Actually, I didn’t even know Lord Malfoy was trained in combat. But, who am I to refuse when my Lord wants to spar?”

“Very true,” Charlie chuckled. They reached the entrance to Harry’s tent. Buckbeak clucked warningly at them from the bed. Charlie dropped into a bow, but Harry strode right in.

“Hush.” He rapped the animal lightly on the beak. Buckbeak snapped at him, though not close enough to threaten his hand. “Oh, get over yourself. He’s here to help me take care of you.”

The hippogriff eyed Charlie warily but let the man check him over. Harry took the chance to strip off his sweat-soaked clothes and clean up with a damp cloth before dressing again in his guardsman’s clothes.

“Hale and hearty,” Charlie said just as Harry pulled on his trousers. “He’ll need to eat about once a day, more if he’s been working. Just about any meat, though raw is best. He’ll eat cooked if he has to, though.”

“Raw won’t be a problem.” Harry ran his fingers through his mounts soft feathers. “Lord Malfoy has a Thestral who takes raw meat. Buckbeak can eat with Glamis.”

Charlie nodded, watching as the hippogriff nuzzled the guardsman’s bare chest. His eyes were drawn to an inky drawing on the man’s side, marred by a thin scar. “Is that a tattoo?”

Harry drew his fingers across the scar. “Yeah, I had it done a few years ago. There’s a lot of rune work in it, but then I took a sword through it a few weeks back.” Charlie hummed sympathetically. “I’ve been thinking about getting a new one.”

Charlie smirked. “You know, I think I can help you there.”

* * *

 

Draco collapsed onto his bed. The early winter sunset had long since passed. He had opened the Hall to the people of the Towns, High and Low, to bring in their grievances that morning. There had been a distinct lack of the usual petty disagreements over property and insults, but more people had come in cold and hungry. The King’s call had taken away most of the able young men, and the old men and busy mothers were having difficulty keeping their families fed and warm. They came to Draco, as Lord of Wiltshire, for help.

He could only be thankful the call to war had not come during the harvest, when every working body was needed in the fields and gardens.

After speaking with Flint, Draco had sent out most of the remaining guardsmen to help split and distribute firewood through the Towns. Draco had spent the afternoon in the kitchens, along with his mother, to help with the baking of scores of loaves of bread, which he and Narcissa had taken out at sunset to give to the poor and hungry.

He was exhausted.

A knocking sounded at the door. “Enter!” Draco called without rising. The guardsmen would have stopped Zabini at the very entrance to his rooms, so it could only be someone he trusted.

“Tired, Draco?” Severus drawled from the doorway. He smirked when Draco only grunted. “What you did today – what you have done since your father left - …I am proud of you.”

Draco lifted a hand from his prone position, groping blindly until he grasped Severus’ forearm. “Thank you,” he murmured. He felt the dip as the physician sat next to him on the bed.

“Harry will be proud of you too, you know.”

Draco let go of Severus, cradling his arm to his chest and curling up on his side. “I didn’t do it for him,” he whispered.

“No.” Severus smoothed a hand across his back. “But he will be proud nonetheless.”


	6. Chapter 6

Draco sat stiffly in his father’s chair in the throne room. His mother and Lady Zabini were in the deer park, taking advantage of the day’s weak sunlight while it lasted. Flint stood at the bottom of the two stairs that raised Draco above everyone else in the hall.

“Has the situation improved in Low Town?”

The representatives of the inhabitants of the Low Town, a blacksmith, a baker and a well-known widow, all nodded. “Thank you so much for your help, my Lord,” the baker added. “I don’t know how we would have managed to carry on until the war is over without it.”

“It was my duty, Master Baker.” Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “The people of Wiltshire will not starve or freeze while I can help them.”

The two men bowed and the widowed curtsied, pouring out their thanks again and again until he dismissed them.

Draco let his head fall back against the chair as the door shut behind them, closing his eyes. “Is that everyone for today, Flint?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Draco heard the guardsman shuffle his feet and opened his eyes. “My Lord, the members of the guard want to thank you for everything you have done while your father has been gone.” Draco looked at him quizzically, and Flint explained. “A lot of us have family in Low Town and the villages. With so much of the guard gone, we don’t have time to do what we want for our own families, much less others’.”

“Do you often take care of each other’s families?” Draco asked curiously.

Flint nodded. “The guard is like a family all by itself. Those of us still here feel like it is our duty to take care of the families of the men who went to war.”

“What will happen if some of the guard die in the war?”

“We always try to take care of the family of any guardsman who dies in the guard. We would do what we can, but,” Flint looked away, “there might be a lot of wives and children left widowed and fatherless.”

A snort issued from the side of the hall. Blaise met Draco’s glare unflinchingly. “It’s a war. What do you expect to happen?” he said dryly.

“I expect to see most, if not all, of my guardsmen return to me,” Draco replied flatly. “They have all received some of the most thorough training in the kingdom.”

“Yeah, Potter’s a real bastard about training,” Flint muttered, cutting Blaise off as he opened his mouth. “I’ve talked to guardsmen from other counties after they’ve watched some of Potter’s sessions with the recruits. They don’t get anything like it.”

“You sound like you expect this captain of yours to win the war by himself,” Blaise noted.

“Believe me, the only way Slytherin will win is if Harry is already dead,” Draco stated, standing. “Flint, you’re dismissed. I’ll call on you if I plan to go riding this afternoon.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Draco left the hall, tracing the long-memorised path back to his rooms. An annoying clicking sound told him that Blaise was following him, much to his frustration. The Italian man’s hard boots announced every step, as though he needed to be more self-important than he already was.

“I may have to stay until the war is over,” Blaise smirked. “I want to meet this Captain Potter and see if he really is all you think of him.”

“All that and more,” Draco replied. “Stick around if you want to, but don’t expect me to hold Harry back if you make him angry.” He stopped at his door and felt Zabini’s hand settle on his lower back. He smacked it away with a sneer.

“I’ve heard a lot of talk from you, and all of it has been ‘wait til Harry gets back!’ Can’t you stand up for yourself, Malfoy?” Blaise leaned closer, ignoring Draco’s look of disgust. “Or maybe you don’t want to. Rethinking that crush on a little guardsman yet, _Draco?”_

Incensed, Draco struck Zabini hard across the face with the back of his hand. Blaise stumbled backward and cradled his cheek, staring at Draco incredulously.

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself from the likes of _you_ , Zabini,” he spat. “Touch me again and you’ll find out just how capable I can be. But,” he added with a cold half-smile, “I’m hardly going to ruin the pleasure of watching Harry behead another man in one strike for touching me.”

He turned on a heel and entered his rooms, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 

Harry wrapped his cloak around him as closely as he could. He edged away from the entrance to the tent, trying to get out of the icy breeze cutting through to his skin. All the metal in his armaments leeched away any warmth he managed to produce and he had to bounce lightly on the balls of his feet to keep the shivers away.

Malfoy stood silently, staring at the canvas wall of the tent, as Harper finished dressing him and fastened his cloak around his shoulders. Not for the first time Harry wished he could wear one just like it, thinking longingly of the warmth of a fur-lined hood around his ears.

“My Lord,” Harry began, breaking the silence, “I received an invitation to dine with a family near London tonight.”

Malfoy turned to look at him with one blond eyebrow cocked. “How did you manage to meet a local family in the middle of a war camp?” he asked curiously.

“They’re mostly men. Brothers,” Harry explained. “One of the eldest works with the Master of Beasts and came to see how my hippogriff was faring. He took me to meet the twins when I, er,” he flushed lightly, “I mentioned wanting a new tattoo.”

A brief smirk flashed across Malfoy’s face, as though he knew exactly what shape the ink curling across Harry’s back and around his neck took and why. “I see. Would I know the family name?”

“Er, the Weasleys, my Lord,” Harry answered, well aware of the tension between his Lord and Lord Septimus Weasley, though Malfoy would not tell him the story behind it. “The children of Lord Weasley’s youngest son.”

“Hm.” Malfoy pulled on his rabbit fur gloves, his face carefully blank. “Very well,” he said at last. “I shall call on Wood if I need anything this evening.” He gave Harry a small, fond smile and tugged his hood up. “Shall we?”

Harry placed his left hand on the pommel of his sword and stepped out of Malfoy’s tent first. His eyes swept across the surrounding tents and icy mud as he held the tent flap open for his Lord. Malfoy followed, and Harry fell into step with his Lord, just behind and to the right.

Heads turned as they made their way through the camp. The Malfoy guard bowed before their Lord, of course, but guardsmen in other colours, belonging to other Lords, stopped to watch their progress. Word of the duels and sparring bouts that took place between the Lord of Wiltshire and his captain had spread, drawing larger crowds every morning.

Malfoy nodded lightly to those other guardsmen who acknowledged his position with a half-bow. Harry nodded to no one. He kept his hand on his sword and his mind on Lord Malfoy’s safety, even as they were bowed into the purple pavilion that housed his Majesty Lord Dumbledore and the war council.

Lord Malfoy took his seat at the table and Harry took up his position behind him. Two more Lords came in after them, Septimus Weasley being the last. He sat down with his customary glare at Lord Malfoy.

“Let us begin,” Lord Dumbledore said as soon as Lord Weasley was seated. “The time has come for us to prepare in earnest. Slytherin’s forces have been spotted coming toward us all week. Now they have encamped on the north side of the Dark Meadow.”

A shiver ran through those gathered at this piece of information. The Dark Meadow was the very place where the rebellious Lord Grindlewald’s campaign had ended. Lord Dumbledore, barely older than Harry then, had led the force that opposed Lord Grindlewald and killed him in the battle, the actions that had gotten Lord Dumbledore proclaimed King and ended the Dark Time.

“I have already received a messenger from Slytherin,” his Majesty informed them. “He demands that I voluntarily relinquish the crown to him. I have two days to send him my decision.” He looked around the table, his expression set in hard lines that showed his age. “I have spent _many_ years of my life promoting peace throughout England and working to make that a reality. I will not step aside and allow that to be undone by one man’s thirst for power!”

Murmurs of agreement swept through the Lords.

“I will send Slytherin my refusal tomorrow evening. We must be prepared for battle the next morning.” The King’s war minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, came forward with a wide roll of parchment and placed it in front of Lord Dumbledore. A flick of Dumbledore’s wand unrolled the parchment, which was a map of the Dark Meadow and its surroundings. A second flick conjured little wooden blocks painted in the family colours of the Lords around the table.

“The only remaining decision to be made,” his Majesty said, “is the quickest way to defeat this ‘Lord Slytherin’.”

* * *

 

“Captain Potter.”

Harry turned, startled to hear his name. Lord Malfoy also stilled in the action of pushing his chair in as he left the table. “Yes, your Majesty?”

Lord Dumbledore smiled genially at him. “Would you give me the pleasure of your company on a walk?” Still shocked, Harry exchanged looks with Lord Malfoy. “Ah, I see,” the King murmured. “Lord Malfoy, may I borrow your captain?”

Lord Malfoy smiled automatically as he turned toward the King. “Of course, your Majesty. Captain Potter’s evening is his own to do with as he wishes.”

“Thank you.” Malfoy bowed and left the tent, leaving Harry inside. “Shall we, Captain Potter?”

The area around the council pavilion was much quieter than the rest of the camp, Harry noticed. There were no foot soldiers squabbling around fire pits or guardsmen rushing back and forth, occasionally dragging a reluctant horse by a lead. Only two or three ministers passed them, always stopping to bow to the King.

“What do you know about familiars, Captain Potter?” Lord Dumbledore asked after a moment.

“Not much at all, your Majesty,” Harry replied, confused. “I know they’re animals that form particular bonds with powerful witches and wizards, but nothing beyond that,” he admitted.

“Most of the oldest Noble families had traditions of familiars,” the King said. “They survive in the symbols of those families. For example, the Dumbledore crest is the burning phoenix.”

He held out his pendant of gold and enamel. On it was the burning phoenix and the Dumbledore family motto in Old English.

“Most of the old families are gone by now,” Lord Dumbledore continued. “The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have died out completely. The man who calls himself Lord Slytherin is actually the last of that family, but it has not had the name in many generations. The Emerys family survives only in the Dumbledores, and both will die with myself and my brother. The Gryffindor family became the Potter family.”

Harry looked at the King in surprise.

Lord Dumbledore chuckled. “I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.” Harry nodded. “The Gryffindor Lords once held most of southwest England, including Wiltshire and Dorset. The name died out, but that is why the Potters held most of Dorset until James’ death.”

Harry pursed his lips as he took the information in. “What was the Gryffindor crest, your Majesty?”

“A hippogriff.” The King smiled at Harry’s shocked look. “Yes, I noticed that spirited mount of yours, the one even my Master of Beasts was unable to tame. I thought it might do you good to know your own family history. You are the last branch of the Gryffindors,” he pointed out. “It is likely that that history is the reason your hippogriff finds you so amiable.”

They walked on for a moment in silence, not going in any particular direction for any particular reason.

“I have heard a great deal about your skills in combat, Captain Potter,” Lord Dumbledore remarked. “You have become something of a celebrity in camp.”

Harry flushed. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, your Majesty,” he mumbled.

“No need to be humble, captain,” Lord Dumbledore smiled. “It is a widely acknowledged fact among the Nobles that Lord Malfoy has received the best training, due to his father Abraxas’ paranoia. Even taking into account his age, he could easily defeat any of the Lords in this camp and the captains of their house guards.”

Harry fought back a proud smile to hear his Lord praised by the King of England. “I didn’t realise he as so well-regarded, your Majesty.”

“Indeed,” the King replied. “That being said, the fact that you can duel Lucius Malfoy to a standstill every morning says a great deal about you. I will be interested to see what you can do when you aren’t holding back.”

“I don’t-“

The King stopped him with a disbelieving look. “As protective as you are of Lord Malfoy, I do not fault you for not trying your utmost to harm him.” Harry looked at the mud, sheepish. “It is my belief that you will be the one to end this war.”

“My Lord Malfoy has said the same,” Harry admitted, embarrassed.

“It is a belief that many in this camp hold, especially your own guardsmen,” Lord Dumbledore added. “I think the reason has something to do with your…intense protectiveness over Lord Malfoy’s only son.” Harry flushed deeply and Lord Dumbledore chuckled. “I wish you the best of luck, Captain Potter.”

* * *

 

Draco ran the round brush over Monsieur’s flanks in a soothing, repetitive motion. He was fully aware that his presence in the stables was the gossip of the grooms at that moment, especially since Draco had not personally rubbed down his own horse since he was a child, but he did not care. He just wanted out of the Manor, even if it was in the humid, manured air of the stables.

Monsieur’s grey sides twitched under the bristles of the brush. Draco hummed quietly as he worked, a song he remembered from being a sung to sleep as a child.

“Are you sure you’re a Noble, Malfoy?” a voice Draco had quickly come to hate drawled from the doorway. “I’m starting to think you belong in the Low Town.”

“I’m starting to think you belong in the stocks, Zabini,” Draco replied, not looking up. He kept his hand on his horse’s back as he walked around behind him, making sure Monsieur didn’t startle and kick him.

“Ah, you wouldn’t want to do that,” Zabini pouted at him. “It might make things awkward for us in the future.”

“If I’m forced to marry you, life will be a great deal worse than ‘awkward,’” Draco spat venomously. “I wouldn’t love you if you were the last man on earth.”

“You wound me, Draco!” Blaise cried, holding a hand over his heart. “However will I go on, knowing I can never have your heart?” His mouth formed a mocking smirk with no sympathy behind it. “Should things work out the way my mother and I want them to, I’ll have your status, lands, fortune, and your body in my bed at my demand. I can settle for not having your heart.”

Draco spat on the stable floor as he put the round brush away and checked Monsieur’s water. “You disgust me.”

“Is that any way to speak to your future husband?” Blaise reached out and wrapped a hand around Draco’s hip.

Draco wrenched himself away with a scoff. “Don’t touch me, Zabini,” he warned.

“And why not, Draco?” Zabini nearly purred, stepping closer and backing Draco into a corner. “Don’t you like it when I touch you?” He reached out again and tucked his fingers into Draco’s belt, tugging him closer.

“Let. Go,” a dark voice ordered. Even Zabini could see the steel in blue eyes and let go, holding his hands up, palm out, as he backed away. “Good boy,” the dark voice sneered.

Draco sighed in relief. “Good afternoon, Captain Black,” he greeted happily.

“My Lord.” Sirius bowed his greeting as best he could without lowering his naked sword or taking his eyes off Blaise. “Sir, I suggest you leave.”

“Do you know who I am?” Blaise demanded, affronted.

“You are a threat to my Lord’s well-being,” Sirius replied flatly. “I took an oath to protect my Lord from all such threats. Your actions will determine how bloody that protection will be.”

Zabini studied Sirius for a moment, taking in his familiarity with his blade and the steadfast expression on his face, and wisely decided to leave. He turned on a heel and strode away, his hard-soled boots echoing on each step out of the stables.

“Thank you, Captain Black,” Draco said when Zabini was gone.

Sirius shrugged and sheathed his sword. “I was in the area,” he replied. “And I’m not captain anymore, my Lord.” He grinned in that easy, happy way of his. “So, who was that wanker?”

Draco smiled. “That was Blaise Zabini, younger son of an Italian Noble and my mother’s special guest you just threatened.”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “Right, well, as long as it wasn’t anyone important, eh?”

“Of course.” Draco gave him faithful grey horse one last pat and led the way out of the stall. “What are you doing in the Manor, Sirius?”

“I came to see how you were faring, my Lord.” The left the stables and turned across the yard, dusted with snow from that morning. “I hadn’t heard anything from Harry since you two left, and then news came that he got called to war with your father. This is the first time you’ve been here without your father, right?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “It has not been easy. Most of the guard has gone to London, along with many of the men from the towns and villages. I have been doing what I can to ensure people don’t starve or freeze before this war is over.”

“I know,” Sirius murmured. “I came through Low Town and stopped to talk to a few old friends of mine. What you’ve done means a lot to them. You’re proving to your people that you deserve to be their Lord.”

Draco turned his face away, hiding his mixed expression of embarrassment and sadness. “You talk like Harry,” he said softly. “He once told me that my people wanted to know they had a Lord who cared about them.”

Sirius nudged him with his shoulder. “Who do you think taught Harry?” he grinned. “Now, I think I’d like to see Severus. It’s been a while since I talked to that greasy old bat.”

* * *

 

After his enlightening, if embarrassing, talk with Lord Dumbledore, Harry went to meet Charlie at the Master of Beast’s area. He stood for a moment next to Hagrid’s fire, warming himself as he waited for the redhead to finish.

“Hey Harry!” Charlie grunted, throwing a bag of oats over his shoulder. “Give me just a minute.”

“Not a problem,” Harry smiled. He tugged off his mail-backed gloves and rubbed his hands together, trying to get some feeling back into his fingertips. One day he would have rabbit fur gloves like Malfoy’s, he promised himself. Of course, he also knew that one day he would have Sirius’ little farm, so perhaps rabbit fur was not the best choice for farm work.

“All right.” Charlie grinned at him, dusting off his trousers roughly. “You ready to be swamped with Weasleys?”

“The rest can’t be any worse than those twins,” Harry retorted. “I’m ready.”

Charlie clapped him on the back with a laugh. “Good! The house is this way. We’re probably the closest house to camp.”

Harry let Charlie lead him out of the smoky air and vague warmth of the camp. They followed a dirt path through a thin band of forest. On the other side of the trees Harry could see the light from the Weasley family’s fire, bright and inviting in the last weak rays of the setting sun. Plump chickens waddled out of their way, heading toward the henhouse to roost for the night.

Charlie bounded up the three stairs to the front door and threw it open. “Come on in,” he beckoned. “Fred, George! Your favourite customer is here!”

The twins seemed to suddenly materialise in the small entryway, startling Harry. They wore matching mischievous grins that Harry already knew, even after only meeting them a few days prior, meant trouble.

“Ah, Captain Potter,” one greeted, shaking Harry’s hand.

“So nice of you to grace our humble abode,” the other said, shaking Harry’s free hand vigorously.

“So lovely to have such a hero here for dinner,” the first twin continued.

A plump, redheaded women bustled out of the kitchen, waving a wooden spoon at her twin sons. “Mind your manners, you two,” she scolded. She turned to Harry and graced him with a warm smile. “Any friend of my boys’ is welcome here.”

“Thank you, madam,” Harry replied, his ears feeling a bit warm.

Thankfully, Charlie stepped forward to rescue him. “Mum, this is Harry Potter. He’s the one I was telling you about, who saved Hagrid from the wild hippogriff.”

“Potter, did you say?” An older man, clearly Lord Weasley’s son and the father of the household, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “I thought the Potters had died out.” He frowned slightly at Harry’s cloak. “A Potter who wears the Malfoy colour as well.”

“The Potter Lords have died out, yes,” Harry said a bit stiffly. “I serve Lord Malfoy as the captain of his guard.”

“Ah.” A look of understanding passed across the man’s face. “My apologies, Captain. I am Arthur Weasley, and this is my wife Molly.”

Harry was too far away to offer a hand, so he bowed his head.

“Well, what are we all doing standing around?” Molly burst out. “Come into the kitchen and eat! Fred, fetch your brothers.”

“Let me take your cloak and things,” Charlie offered. Harry shot him a grateful look, tugging his gloves and vambraces off while Charlie unclasped his cloak. He led Harry into a cramped dining room and to a seat at the table amongst the redheaded family.

Harry enjoyed being with the Weasleys. They were all involved in various parts of the camp or the royal household. Bill, the oldest, worked as an underling to His Majesty’s financiers. Percy also worked for the King as a sort of secretary. Fred and George were apprentice weapon masters for the Royal Guard in addition to creating tattoos.

Ron, the youngest son and Harry’s age, was the only soldier. He was also a member of the Royal Guard, though low-ranking. Harry especially enjoyed talking with him. There was a brotherhood among soldiers, no matter who they fought for. Ron offered to walk with him back to the camp when it started getting late.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

Harry looked up at the stars as he thought. “I am…as much as I’ll ever be,” he replied. “I don’t know. Is anyone ever really ready to kill another person?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in a battle before,” Ron admitted. “What’s it like?”

“To kill a man?” Harry asked sharply. Ron looked away, embarrassed and ashamed, but nodded. “Horrifying. Exhilarating. Sickening. I’ve only killed twice,” he said quietly, “and only because those men were a threat to people I love.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“Will you tell me?” Ron asked.

Wind gusted through the woods, rattling the bare branches. Harry pulled his cloak tighter around himself. “The first man was a raider who cut off my captain’s hand. I was seventeen then. Sirius, my captain, practically raised me.”

Ron made a noise to show he was still listening.

“A few months ago I killed the captain of Slytherin’s guard and three of his guardsmen.”

“What?! By yourself?”

Harry gave a half-smile. “Not really. Sirius was there, but he only has one hand.”

“How did that even end up happening?” Ron asked, incredulous.

“They were after Lord Malfoy’s son.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “You are probably the most loyal guardsman I’ve ever met.”

Harry remembered the rage that boiled in his veins when he saw Macnair’s sword against Draco’s throat. He remembered how it felt like there was a fierce monster in his chest roaring in delight when Macnair’s head fell to the ground, blood spraying. He remembered kissing Draco afterward and the blood and heat and relief of the moment.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Loyal.”

* * *

 

“Will you be with us?”

Harry looked over at Oliver Wood. The man was four years older than Harry, but his face was pale and fear made his voice quiver, giving him a childlike appearance.

“As much as I can, Wood,” Harry replied. He stuffed his foot in a boot and tied the laces tightly. His own hands were shaking, making his fingers slip on the two buckles that tightened the boots at the top. “You know what the plan is and you know what your orders are. You can lead them,” he said. “I have trained you, everyone, as much as I possibly could. It’s up to you now.”

“You’re a much better leader,” Wood mumbled.

“You know I have to stay with Malfoy. I’m the only one who can follow him into the air. And besides,” Harry smiled darkly, “Slytherin’s death is mine.”

Wood chuckled, a hint of a smile quirking his lips as he strapped on his pauldrons over his shoulders. “I hope the Heir knows how much you love him. He’ll have to work hard to deserve you.”

“And I’ll never be his equal, so that saves him the work. No,” Harry held up a hand when he saw Wood open his mouth to reply, “don’t start. That’s how it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“And yet it is.” Harry stood and helped Wood with his last buckles and straps. He clapped a hand on the back of Wood’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. “We will dine in victory when this is over.”

Wood pressed back, trembling. “I almost believe you.”

Harry stepped back and gave Wood’s shoulder one last squeeze. “You should.” He turned and left the tent.

Malfoy was waiting for him, standing patiently as Harper dressed him in the last pieces of his polished armour. The silver inlay decorating the steel glinted in the candlelight. Malfoy’s armour was, understandably, more complicated than Harry’s. The Lord had plates over his chest and back and a barbute helmet, while Harry had only a single piece of plate over his chest and stomach and his mail coif and great helm. Malfoy also had larger rerebraces that covered his shoulders and upper arms. Harry’s pauldrons covered only his shoulders.

“No cloak, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want it in my way,” he replied.

Malfoy hummed. “I believe Draco might be upset if he saw his beautiful gift with blood stains, as well.”

Harry laughed. “Well, it wouldn’t do to upset Draco, would it?”

“No indeed,” Malfoy murmured. Harper finished with the last fastening on the rerebraces and stepped back. “Thank you, Harper.”

The younger man bowed deeply. “It is an honour, My Lord, Captain Potter. I wish you the best of luck.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“Thank you, Harper.” Harry clasped the young servant’s hand for a second before he left the tent.

“It is a difficult morning all over camp,” Malfoy said, staring at the flap Harper had disappeared through.

A lump in his throat kept Harry from replying, but he did not know what to say anyway. He could hardly refute the statement. Instead, he picked up a ribbon from Malfoy’s writing desk. Silently, he pulled his Lord’s long hair back and tied it out of his way.

Malfoy turned around and put both his hands on the sides of Harry’s head, pressing their foreheads together. The ancient gesture of trust and respect showed by the man he was so fiercely loyal to made Harry tear up. He blinked quickly to keep them from falling.

“The decision to bring you into my home was one of the best I have ever made,” Malfoy said in a quiet voice full of real affection. “Whether or not you ever become a part of my family, I will always consider you like a son to me.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Harry choked out.

Malfoy pressed harder briefly before he let go. He picked up his barbute helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Shall we go into battle, Captain Potter?”

Harry placed his own great helm over his head. “Yes, my Lord.”


	7. Chapter 7

Harry tightened his knees against Buckbeak’s flanks. The hippogriff huffed and settled down a bit. Malfoy’s Thestral tossed his head as Harry pulled Buckbeak level with the Noble.

The gathered armies looked like fire in the reflection of the dawning sun. A few shouts of orders could be heard over the rattle of armour and thumping of hooves, but there was no idle conversation. Every mind was turned toward the battle before them. Harry knew most of the soldiers, like Ron Weasley, had never killed a man before. That idea would weigh heavy on their minds. It felt like a burden on Harry’s, and his hands were not clean.

The Malfoy forces, headed by Harry and his guardsmen, were placed directly to the left of the Royal Guard. Harry and Lord Malfoy, two of the strongest fighters in camp, were part of the very front line.

Across the Dark Meadow the fog was rising, burned away by the sun. Light glittered on the armour of Lord Slytherin’s forces. Harry sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the front line stretching as long as their own. Horses and mounts on both sides snorted and danced in place.

The silence flexed as Shacklebolt relayed the King’s orders. It stretched as he raised a purple-gloved fist slowly into the air. It shuddered and rippled and, when he dropped his arm like a blacksmith’s hammer, it shattered.

Harry set his feet in his stirrups as Buckbeak raced forward. The war cries of both sides changed as the two lines hit each other. Clashes of metal, sword against sword, rang out, along with the first death screams of the battle.

Two swift movements on Harry’s part blocked his first opponent’s sword and cut the man open across his stomach. Harry didn’t even have enough time to watch the man fall from his horse. He was already turning to strike at the next of Slytherin’s fighters.

Again and again, men rushed Harry. Again and again, he raised his sword. Again and again and _again_ , men died at his hands. Time lost meaning in the heat of the battle, the world no larger than the reach of his sword and Buckbeak’s talons. His mail-backed gloves were soaked with hot blood, and the liquid ran in thick streams down his sword and spattered the hippogriff’s feathers.

A shock ran down Harry’s arm as his sword hit another man’s shield. The impact dulled the nerves in his arm and slowed him down. His opponent struck before he could raise his sword high enough, slashing Harry across his upper arm. Harry hissed in pain as the blade pulled free. Buckbeak let out a screech and reared back, raking his talons across the man’s body and ripping his shield from his grip. The man screamed as the hippogriff’s beak tore into his shoulder. Another vicious peck at his neck silenced him.

“Good boy,” Harry panted against Buckbeak’s neck. He used the moment to catch his breath and look around him.

The two armies were mixed in together, each one trying push toward the other side. To Harry’s right the Royal Guard was dispatching black-clad soldiers as they shoved forward. Harry thought he saw a flash of Weasley red hair within the group. Near them were Oliver and the Malfoy guard. Harry wished he had the time to do a head count of them all. To his left was Lord Malfoy, his pale hair and shining armour stained with gore.

“Potter!” The cry went up from within the Royal Guard. Harry snapped his head around, looking for the source. “Potter, the sky!” Harry looked up.

A shape was rising from the middle of the black army. Lord Slytherin, mounted on a grey Abraxan horse, was climbing over the battle, a long wand in his hand. As Harry watched, he fired off a curse into the Boot guard, to the right of the King’s forces, that blew apart men and dirt and horses alike.

Harry tightened his grip on his sword and jabbed his heels into Buckbeak’s sides. “Up!” he cried as he pressed himself against the hippogriff’s feathered neck. With a loud hunting call, Buckbeak took two galloping steps and launched himself into the sky.

The sound of another set of wings behind him made him turn. Lord Malfoy had followed him into the air on the back of his Thestral, Glamis. The noble smirked at him. “You didn’t think you could leave me on the ground, did you?”

Harry let out a wild laugh. “Never, my Lord!”

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something else but closed it again as he pulled Glamis sharply to the side. A curse passed through the space where he had been and struck the ground below. Harry turned to see Lord Nott, Slytherin’s supporter, rising opposite them on a Thestral of his own.

“Get rid of him!” Malfoy ordered as he set his sights on Slytherin.

Harry shook his wand out of its holster and into his left hand. He tightened his knees around Buckbeak to hold on without the reigns. “Go!” he shouted, leaning the hippogriff toward Nott. Buckbeak screeched as he aimed toward the wings of Nott’s Thestral, claws out.

Nott snarled at him as he approached. Harry flicked his wand, creating a shield, and Nott’s curse slammed against it. Buckbeak collided with the Thestral, tearing at its neck with his sharp, bloody beak. The Thestral let out a scream and kicked.

Harry swung high, and his sword crashed against Nott’s. He pulled back quickly, keeping his elbow tucked in to protect his side. “I don’t want to kill you, Nott,” he said.

“You’ll have to,” Nott replied. He struck out again.

Harry leaned back to avoid the blade. Buckbeak let go of the Thestral and shoved it away, flapping his huge wings to keep them in the air. Nott and Harry circled each other, studying and watching, waiting for the perfect opening. Nott sent another curse at him and it rolled sideways off another shield.

Nott urged his Thestral toward Harry with a wordless shout of frustration. Harry tensed, crouching in his stirrups, and met Nott’s charge head-on. He locked blades with the noble and pushed until Nott turned in the saddle. Harry pressed the tip of his wand against the back of Nott’s neck and spelled him into a deep sleep.

He drew back as Nott slumped against his Thestral’s neck, sword and wand falling from his hands. The man wouldn’t wake again for at least a few hours. It was a spell Severus had taught him, one that was used on patients before a very painful treatment. Harry slapped the Thestral on the rump and sent it toward the ground.

“Let’s end this,” Harry growled. He gripped Buckbeak’s feathers as tight as he could and guided him upward toward the flashing lights and clanging steel of Malfoy and Slytherin’s fight.

* * *

 

Draco shot upward with a gasp, his hands grabbing blindly at the bedding. His heart was racing, blood pound so hard that he couldn’t see anything but pulsing red. Panic, excitement, adrenaline, fear- _so much fear, so afraid…_

Draco bowed over, touching his forehead to his knees, and sucked in deep breaths until he could see again. The pounding red slowly cleared from his vision. Feeling able to stand, Draco wrapped his morning robe around himself and wandered out into the hall, silent on bare feet.

The halls were empty. Dawn was nothing more than a faint wash of grey light outside. Not even the most dedicated servants were up. Draco’s breath, still drawn in too fast, too rough, turned to frost in the winter air. The stone floors were harsh against his feet, turning his toes blue with cold.

The panic, barely controlled by his breathing exercise, began to push at his mind again. Draco walked faster, nearly breaking into a run, until he was outside the door to his mother’s rooms. Not bothering to knock, he threw open the door and rushed inside.

Narcissa was already awake, or perhaps she had not slept at all. Her face was pale and her hair wild as she stood before her window, clutching at her own morning robe. It was a gift from Draco’s father, quilted wool in the pale blue colour of the House of Malfoy. Draco caught sight of tears on her face before she gathered him into her arms.

“Mother,” Draco gasped, clutching onto the back of her robe just as she held his. “Mother, I’m so afraid.”

“I know,” Narcissa whispered. “I can feel it too.” She leaned back and took his face in her hands. She stroked her thumbs over his cheekbones, a gentle touch that wiped away tears he had not realised had fallen.

“Why?”

“The battle has begun.” Her voiced sounded far away. “My Lucius has gone to fight with your Harry by his side.” She met his gaze with eyes full of turmoil. “They will protect each other.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I must, Draco.”

* * *

 

Fury roared through Harry as he watched Malfoy’s sword drop from his hand, glinting in the sunlight as it fell to the earth. Malfoy bowed over his Thestral’s back, clutching at the gaping wound in his thigh. Slytherin raised his wand, triumph in his face, and aimed it at Malfoy’s wounded form.

“NO!”

Harry’s magic rushed out of him, blasting Slytherin away from his Lord. Slytherin’s Abraxan let out a high whine, flapping desperately to avoid plummeting from the sky. Harry spurred Buckbeak to Malfoy’s side.

“Hang on, my Lord.” He wrapped the Thestral’s reigns around Malfoy’s hands to keep him on its back, then slapped the animal on the rump. “Down, Glamis! Get safe!”

The Thestral let out its high, eerie call and tucked its wings in, dropping down before angling back toward the encampment, behind the fighting. Harry watched long enough to make sure Glamis found safety.

“Commendable, Captain Potter,” Slytherin called, reigning his Abraxan in and levelling off above Harry. “Ever protective.”

“Yes, I am,” Harry called back. “I thought you’d figured that out.”

“Of course.” Slytherin sneered. “It makes you weak.”

“On the contrary,” Harry replied. He cast a shield as Slytherin’s curse slammed into it. The shield shuddered but held. “It makes me strong.” With a flick of his wrist, Harry fired off a curse of his own. It splashed off Slytherin’s shield, and the fight began in earnest.

Buckbeak and Slytherin’s Abraxan circled each other. The hippogriff had the advantage of a sharp beak, hissing and pecking savagely at the Abraxan whenever he could. The Abraxan screamed as Buckbeak tore a long strip from one of its wings.

Harry and Slytherin were more evenly matched. They met each other curse for curse, tossing them aside or letting them strike shields and split apart. Harry was powerful, but so was Slytherin, and the false Lord wielded foul magics well. Harry shuddered as a sickly yellow curse hit his shield, Slytherin’s magic feeling slimy against his own.

He ducked another spell, letting it zip over his head and dissipate as he leaned close to Buckbeak’s head. “Get closer.” He cast a shield that hugged close to his body, hoping it would be strong enough to survive the battering Slytherin would give it.

Buckbeak ducked under the Abraxan’s wounded wing, bringing Harry within arm’s reach of Slytherin. He grit his teeth as his shield shook and fractured under Slytherin’s spells and poured more of his dwindling magic into it. He could not let it fall. He tightened his grip on his sword.

Slytherin met his first strike with a ringing parry. Harry pressed forward. If he couldn’t overpower Slytherin with magic, he would do it with steel.

It was infinitely more difficult to fight from horseback in the sky. Harry spared a thought to despair that he had never thought to train on one of the Malfoy Thestrals as he ducked under one of Buckbeak’s wings. He snapped his sword up just in time to block a strike from Slytherin as the hippogriff’s wing swept out of the way. He had no time for what-ifs and shook the stray thoughts from his mind.

Harry ducked low to avoid a thrust toward his throat, clinging to Buckbeak’s neck as Slytherin’s blade whistled through the air above him. Focused on Slytherin’s sword and his sight half blocked by hippogriff feathers, he didn’t see the Abraxan’s back leg kick out as Buckbeak bit savagely into the winged horse’s flank.

The Abraxan’s hoof slammed into his knee. Harry let out a shout through clenched teeth as he felt something snap in the joint. Tears welled up in his eyes, blinding him. Buckbeak struggled to get away from Slytherin’s Abraxan, but their wings were too close together, half tangled up. Distracted by the pain, Harry’s grip on his magic faltered and his shield fell.

“AHH!” Harry screamed as Slytherin’s sword slammed down on his back, shattering the links of his mail hauberk and cutting deep into the muscle. It burned as the Slytherin pulled it free, like the red steel in the Weasley twins’ weapons forge. Harry collapsed forward against Buckbeak with a whimper.

“How strong do you feel now, _Captain Potter?”_ Slytherin shouted. Harry’s blood dripped off his blade as he raised it over his head.

A flash of spell light from the ground caught Harry’s eye. “Strong enough,” he replied, raising his head to watch the spell hit Slytherin and destroy his shields, “for _this_.”

Harry thrust out his arm, stabbing his sword deep into Slytherin’s stomach. A gasp tore from the man’s throat. Harry twisted the sword viciously, watching blood ooze from between the dying man’s pale lips.

“I told you,” Harry rasped, his voice cracked from his scream. “I told you I would kill you for threatening him.”

Slytherin laughed, a disgusting, bubbling noise without humour. His teeth were coated in red when he smiled, blood dripping down his chin. “So you did.”

Harry tugged his sword free from Slytherin’s stomach, feeling it scrape against ribs on the way. His back felt as though he was ripping it apart as he raised his blade high, his muscles twisting and pulling, blood pouring freely from the wound. Black spots danced around the edge of his vision. Harry swept his sword across in a single decisive movement.

Slytherin’s head tumbled back off his next and fell, rolling in the air and spraying drops of blood before it disappeared into the fight below.

With a last effort, Harry raised his good leg and landed a solid kick in the centre of Slytherin’s chest. What remained of his body followed his head, sliding off the back of the Abraxan and falling heavily. Buckbeak shoved the winged horse away and circled as he let out a long, victorious call. Slumped over the hippogriff’s neck, Harry watched the fighters below look up at the noise and see the fall of Lord Slytherin. The last of the black clad fighters, those still alive and able to move, withdrew, fleeing for safety on the far side of the Dark Meadow and their camp.

Harry tangled his fingers in Buckbeak’s feathers and gripped as tightly as he could, unable to move his broken knee. He would have to trust the hippogriff to keep him from falling. Every muscle in his body twitched and shook in pain and exhaustion. “We need to find Malfoy,” he croaked. Buckbeak flapped once and turned them toward the camp, gliding toward the ground and safety.

* * *

 

It would take a man on horseback riding flat out several minutes to reach the Manor from the edge of the High Town. If he were coming from the outskirts of the Low Town, it would take him even longer. In times of emergency, the time it took for a messenger from the edge of the Low Town to reach the Manor and warn the Lord in residence could be too much, and so a system of warning bells was created. The first bell hung in the watchtower overlooking the road into the Malfoy seat. Five more created a chain that reached the walls of the Manor. When they rang, the towns and Manor fell silent, and all six bells could be heard in the high, stone hall of the throne room.

And all six bells were ringing.

The baker in throne room stopped speaking abruptly. His weekly report became second to the cause of the warning bells, and the baker knew it. He backed toward the wall immediately to get out of Lord Heir Malfoy’s way.

Draco leapt to his feet. He felt the blood drain from his face in panic. The warning bells were so rarely heard that they could not help but be feared. His mother rose next to him, her own face pale but still composed.

“Dismissed!” Draco practically jumped off the dais in his rush, not seeing the bows given to him as he left. “Pucey, escort my mother to her rooms.”

“No.”

Draco closed his eyes briefly as he turned to look at his mother. Narcissa stared back at him, her face set in firm resolve. “Mother, please. We don’t know what is coming-“

“Precisely why I will be joining you,” Narcissa interrupted. “I will not hide away in my rooms like a child, waiting for a messenger to tell me what has happened.”

Draco sighed. “Very well.” There was no moving his mother when she was decided. “Flint!”

The guardsman in charge hurried to catch up as Draco spun on a heel and strode from the room. “My Lord, I’ve sent word to gather the Guard in the courtyard.”

“Very good.” Draco nodded once. “I know we don’t have many guardsmen, but could we ward off an attack?”

Flint shook his head. “Not a truly determined one, my Lord. Any more than about three dozen trained fighters would overwhelm us.”

“We shall make do with what we have, then.” Draco shifted his cloak to hang over his left shoulder, leaving his right arm, his sword arm, free to move.

“My Lord-“

Draco shot Flint a sharp look. “I will not despair until I know what is coming.”

Flint bowed his head. “Yes, my Lord.”

The guardsman kept pace with Draco as he hurried through the corridors and out onto the cobblestones of the courtyard. Narcissa and Pucey fell back to stand by the heavy doors. Above the gate and along the top of the wall, Draco could see the distinctive navy tunics and great helms of the Guard gathering, many armed with bows and spears.

“This looks exciting.”

Draco’s hand clenched on the pommel of his sword. He did not look away from the guardsmen’s preparations as he addressed the man who stopped beside him, knowing his anger and disgust would boil over if he did. “You should not be here.”

“Why not?” Draco could hear the smirk in Zabini’s voice. “It’s been dreadfully boring around here these last few days.”

Draco ground his teeth together. “Zabini…”

“Podmore!” Flint barked suddenly. “Escort the Lady Zabini and her son back to their rooms and ensure they stay there…for their safety.”

“Yes, sir!” The stocky, aging guardsman offered and took hold of the Italian man’s arm in a grip tighter than would be considered proper. “Shall we find your mother, your Lordship?” Draco’s mouth twitched in a hard smile when Zabini stumbled as Podmore yanked him away.

“Thank you,” Draco murmured to Flint.

“Of course, my-“ Flint stopped as the sound of shouting reached them from beyond the gates. The clatter of hard wheels on cobblestones accompanied the voice.

“Make way! Open up! Make way!”

“Open the gates!” A guardsman on the wall shouted down. “It’s Harper!”

Draco moved out of the way as Flint rushed to help open the gates. Harper was his father’s manservant. Did that mean…was his father…?

A simple four-wheeled cart rushed through the gates before they were fully open, pulled by a panting beast Draco recognised easily: Glamis, his father’s Thestral. He saw Pucey catch his mother as her knees went weak, but his focus lay on the three visible figures in the cart. Harper pulled back hard on the reigns, forcing Glamis to stop.

Lucius Malfoy’s unconscious body jerked at the sudden stop, but an unfamiliar red-haired man kept the Noble propped up against the straw in the back of the cart.

Draco rushed forward as Harper jumped into the back. “Help me with him!” he shouted at the nearest guardsman. “Severus Snape!”

“I’m here.” Severus swept toward them as two guardsmen picked Lucius up and hauled him carefully out of the cart. He swept a critical look over Lucius. “Take him to his chambers and put him on the bed.”

Draco caught sight of his father’s injury as the guardsmen passed. Lucius’ trousers were torn away from his thigh, where someone had clearly attempted some healing. Draco could see a rough poultice beneath bandages of cut clothes.

He tried to follow the guardsmen to his father’s room, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Draco looked over and into his mother’s guarded eyes. “I will go. Stay here.”

“Why?”

Narcissa simply nodded toward the cart.

The red-haired man had another man’s body over his shoulder, one Draco had not noticed before. One he could never forget.

“ _Harry.”_

Narcissa left, but Draco didn’t notice. Harry’s body was covered by a dull purple cloak, but his skin had a deathly colour to it and Draco could see large, dark bloodstains on the cloak. The redhead held Harry carefully, speaking quickly at Severus.

Draco stumbled forward, his joints shaking and weak. His pulse was pounding in his ears, muffling the noise around him. “His back…two days’ ride…hot…”

“Fever…be infection…” Severus’ voice reached him in words and snatches. “My chambers, hurry.”

Flint left with the red-haired man, leading the way through the Manor. Severus’ pale face filled Draco’s view. “Come on, Draco.” Gentle hands grasped his forearms, guiding him into the Manor. “He’s going to be alright, Draco, they both are. I promise.”


End file.
